


Both Showing Hearts

by kiwikero



Series: All of Me [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Bullying, Coming Out, First Time, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ Themes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 23:15:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 113,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3627921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwikero/pseuds/kiwikero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson is, in fact, not straight. </p><p>Harry Styles isn't sure what he is. </p><p>Together, they figure it out, and maybe fall in love along the way.</p><p>Or, the Uni AU where Louis helps Harry figure out his sexuality, Niall crashes a bachelorette party, Liam works in a printing centre, and Zayn happens to need lots of printing done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> Well hello there! Welcome to the beginning of the longest story I have ever written.
> 
> This started out as my novel for NaNoWriMo 2014, and I quickly realized the story was nowhere near finished and kept it going. It's a story that is so close to my heart, and I really hope that you guys enjoy it. I am so excited to finally be able to start sharing it with you.
> 
> There will be some specific warnings for individual chapters, so please check the notes before reading! There are ten chapters (unless an extra sneaks in somehow), and I will update every Sunday. 
> 
> This wouldn't have been possible without several people, namely my amazing beta, Sarah. I also have to thank C for letting me bounce ideas off of her, Lexy and Addy for being incredibly supportive and encouraging, Vikki for answering approximately seven billion questions about uni in the UK, Becky for helping me plot, and Rashad for letting me ask far too many questions about penises and being raised Muslim. You guys are all fantastic and this story would be less without any one of you.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own One Direction. This is entirely a work of fiction. I have nothing worth suing over, I swear.
> 
> Also, I'm American, so anything that's strange about their uni is my fault entirely. Just pretend it's a really quirky school, deal? XD
> 
> That being said, here goes nothing.
> 
> The title comes from "All of Me" by John Legend. 
> 
> Song for this chapter: "Typical" by MuteMath
> 
> Thanks to [edgeofmyinnocence](http://tumblr.com/edgeofmyinnocence), BSH is now available in [Polish](http://www.wattpad.com/story/42919345)!

Late late late. Louis is late. This is not the way he wants to start his first OutSpeak panel of the semester, especially since it’s his bloody program to begin with.

Shoving a manila folder into his leather satchel, Louis dashes out the door of his flat and down the stairs, nearly falling on his face when his foot catches on the threshold of the door to his building.

Luckily, the class he's headed to isn't far away. His block of flats abuts the edge of campus, a prime location for a third year uni student. It's a short jog across the road to the building that houses the university's sociology department, and it just so happens that those courses are the most likely to host his panels.

Louis bursts through the classroom door at ten to noon, hair wrecked from the stiff breeze and his hurried trek to the class. He's still early, technically, but he has a strict twenty-minutes-prior arrival policy and really wants to set a good example for his panelists. He's quite pleased to see that all three of them are already present, chatting with the professor as the students slowly file into the lecture hall.

Taking a breath and swiping a hand through his windswept locks, he crosses the room to where the instructor is tidying papers at a dented metal desk.

"Professor Langley," Louis says, still slightly out of breath from the jog. He really needs to start exercising again, he thinks. He extends a hand towards the portly, middle-aged man. "I'm Louis Tomlinson, the OutSpeak coordinator. Thanks so much for having us here today."

Langley's watery eyes turn into half moons as he smiles, reaching out and clasping Louis' hand harder than is strictly necessary. Ouch. "Mr Tomlinson! It's so nice to finally put a face to the e-mails. We're very excited to have you." He waves a hand in the direction of the seats, a few students curiously watching the exchange. Louis brushes it off; he's used to being treated as somewhat of a novelty in these situations.

"The students have been briefed on LGBTQ terminology, and we're currently studying the sociology of gender, so I'm really looking forward to a great discussion," the professor continues earnestly.

Louis offers an indulgent, closed-mouth smile. It never changes. The instructors always hope for their students to ask really deep questions, but inevitably the conversation will turn to tired topics: Sex. Religion. Coming out. _Yawn._ Louis is certain he could tell his coming out story in his sleep. Not that there’s anything wrong with those topics, but a little variety now and then would be nice.

Politely excusing himself from the professor, Louis sidles up next to Zayn, his best friend and one of his regular panelists. The raven-haired man is arranging four stools in a row on the stage for them to sit on. Lily and Skye, the other two panelists, are engaged in an animated conversation at the other end of the row of stools.

"You were late," Zayn says simply, his smooth voice pouring out of him like smoke.

Louis' eyes narrow, one hand flying to his hip. "Don't start, Malik. If someone wouldn't have made off with my phone charger, again, my phone wouldn't have died and I would have heard my alarm go off."

Zayn smiles apologetically before fishing the aforementioned cord from the pocket of his fitted trousers. "Thanks, mate. Here you go, though you should really think of getting a back-up charger for when yours goes missing."

 _"Or you could get your own,"_ Louis hisses, Zayn brushing him off with a shrug.

The argument doesn't have time to escalate further. Louis and Zayn are suddenly being ushered to the stools by Professor Langley, the rotund man clapping his hands to get the attention of his class. "All right, everyone! Settle down!" His voice rings out across the hall. There's a flurry of sound as students settle into creaking chairs, pulling notebooks from backpacks and putting away mobile phones and iPods.

Langley peers over the sea of his pupils, waiting until he's satisfied with the level of noise in the room. "As most of you know if you've been to class at all in the past month, today we have some very special guest speakers.” He gestures to the group of four panelists, settling onto their respective stools. Skye gives a flirty little wave, the manicured tips of her nails flashing brightly.

“I want you all to be attentive, respectful, and thoughtful,” the professor continues, “because there will be an assignment that draws from today's dialogue." Langley pauses briefly, allowing time for a collective groan to issue forth from the undergraduates. He angles his body toward the four panelists, his eyes meeting Louis'. "I'm going to let our guests introduce themselves, and we'll get started." Pulling back the sleeve of his blazer, Langley glances down at the wristwatch tucked under the cuff of his shirt, then he nods at Louis. "I'll let you know when we have ten minutes remaining, sound good?"

Louis dons a vivid smile, hoping to put the more nervous students in the audience at ease. "Perfect, Professor Langley, thank you." His voice comes out light and raspy, like the static underneath the music on an old record player. Louis sits up straight, crossing his ankles under the stool, and allows himself to look over the faces in the crowd for the first time.

"Hello!” He begins brightly. “I'm Louis Tomlinson, and I'm the coordinator of the OutSpeak programme at the LGBTQ Resource Centre. We're going to each tell you a little bit about ourselves, and then we'll open up the floor to questions. Try and think of a few while we're speaking so we don't waste any time." He takes a quick breath before he goes on, the words effortlessly flowing out of him like a well-rehearsed script.

"Before we begin, I want to declare that this is a Safe Space." Confusion flickers across the faces of several students, so Louis goes on to explain: "That means that anything said in this room is going to be assumed to come from a place of goodwill. If you say something problematic, we will politely correct you, and please feel free to do the same." He twines his slender fingers together, settling his hands on his knees.

"We may talk about some topics that can be upsetting or triggering,” Louis elaborates. “If you need to check out of the conversation mentally or physically, please feel free to do so. If you leave the room, one of us will follow you to make sure that you're okay. Any questions?" His eyes alight on a few random faces.

When no one speaks up, some students even shaking their heads, Louis claps his hands together, the noise loud and echoing in the respectful silence of the room. He has a brief moment of satisfaction as Zayn startles at the sound.

"Excellent!” Louis enthuses, the giggle he’s suppressing evident in his voice. “Well, let's get started so we can get to your questions! Please remember that these are our personal stories, and that we are not speaking for any one group as a whole."

Part of Louis’ job in putting together panel discussions is making sure that they are representative. Louis tries to keep his panels diverse, including as many different identities as he can to give the students as much exposure as possible. Lily, the first panelist to tell her story, is his sole asexual volunteer. Louis loves when Lily signs up for panels, because the asexual population is so underrepresented and misunderstood. She does a great job handling even the more difficult questions.

The petite brunette is speaking animatedly, talking about how she used to feel alienated and alone when she was the only one of her friends not interested in having sex, before she was able to put a name to her feelings.

Louis' gaze shifts from her to the front row of students, several of them staring at Lily like she has an extra head. Lily doesn't bat an eye, however, finishing up her story with where she is now: living with her partner of two years, about to graduate in the spring, and ridiculously happy.

When Lily finishes her story, she turns to Skye, signalling the end of her turn. The statuesque blonde smiles in reply, flipping her long braid over her shoulder before beginning to speak.

Skye is a transgender woman, in the process of transitioning from male to female. She had come out to her family at eighteen and was badly beaten by her father before being kicked out of the house. Now, a year into living openly as a woman, Skye is confident and poised, vastly different from the shy, introverted girl who had wandered into the LGBTQ Centre in the autumn of Louis' second year.

Skye ends her story with the basics of where she is with her transition—she's taking hormones and has not yet had any surgeries, though she plans to in the future—and then it's Zayn's turn to speak.

Zayn is another person Louis loves to have on a panel. Looking more like a model than a university student, Zayn always ends up with at least one girl slipping him a phone number at the end of the discussion (and more often than not, a guy or two as well). The students are compelled to listen to him when he talks, and how could you not be? The man's easy delivery and bright, intelligent eyes give the feeling that every word he utters is as good as gold.

Zayn also brings a lot to the discussion in terms of religion, talking about reconciling his bisexuality with being raised Muslim. Zayn, unlike the others on the panel, is out at school but has not come out to his family yet.

All too soon, Zayn has turned his large, warm brown eyes on Louis. Louis grins at his flatmate, giving a subtle wink before addressing the class.

"Like I mentioned earlier, my name is Louis. I'm a third year theatre major with a minor in gender studies." He quickly surveys the crowd, seeing signs of boredom, and decides to give the shorter version of his story so they can proceed to the questions. "I've known I was gay since secondary school. I have four younger sisters, and when my sister Lottie got old enough to start gossiping about cute celebrities or boys at school, I found myself joining in. It never seemed to faze her or my mum."

Louis ducks his head, honey brown hair brushing over his forehead. "I've always been a little, ah, _flamboyant._ I honestly think I was the last person to realise I was gay." There's a smattering of laughter from the crowd. "I was out in my hometown by the end of upper sixth, and even though it was a small community, I felt accepted. It was nice coming to university and being able to start that new chapter of my life being fully open about my sexuality. I never felt the need to stay closeted, because I've been fortunate enough to have a supportive family and amazing friends."

Louis knows exactly how lucky he is, how easy his coming out had been. At times he worries that it makes the other panelists feel worse about their own situations, but he likes to look at himself as the ray of hope to the students in attendance, living proof that coming out doesn’t have to suck.

Once he finishes his abbreviated monologue, Louis pauses for a moment. His eyes flit from face to face, pleased to see that a good majority of the class looks interested again. That's usually the case, but once in a while there will be absolutely no interest from the audience and Louis has to resort to prompting the other panelists with questions until the period is up.

"I'm going to open the floor to your questions now,” he says. “Nothing is off limits, but we will let you know if we don't feel comfortable answering something. You can direct your questions to the panel as a whole or to an individual person." Louis grins out at the rows of students. This is his favourite part of every panel. Sometimes the discussion is intelligent and deep, and others it's lighthearted and kind of ridiculous, but either way there are at least a few fun questions. Even the repetitive questions can be entertaining with the right group of panelists. "So, what do you want to talk about? Religion? Sex? Politics? Fire away."

A few tentative hands are lifted. Louis calls on a girl in the front row with long blond ringlets. "Hi, um, my question is for any of you who are religious. Do you think being gay is a sin?” She sounds nervous to ask, her voice high. “Like, how can you be religious and go against God's Word?"

Louis' eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. He wasn’t expecting such a heavy question right off the bat. Composing himself, he shifts on his stool to angle himself toward the other speakers. "I'm about as religious as a teaspoon, so I'm going to let someone else take this one. Zayner, maybe?"

Zayn nods, one corner of his mouth quirking up. He's used to fielding all of the questions about religion, poor lad. "Yeah, I'll take that one." He nods at the girl. "It's a great question, but again keep in mind that I'm answering for myself, and not all bisexual men or Muslims." He runs a hand along the scruff dotting his jawline, gathering his thoughts. "Like, my religion says that homosexuality is a sin, right? So does Christianity.” There are some nods from the students, all listening in rapt attention. “But it also says that Allah is merciful and forgiving. Everybody sins, that's all there is to it, and my sexuality is no worse a sin than someone breaking fast or eating a bit of pork now and then. It's just a different sin, that's all, and something that is a part of me that I can't change. I believe I was created this way, that my God's plan for me includes me embracing myself for how He made me." He rolls his neck, releasing some of the tension in his shoulders. "It's similar to Christianity. There are a lot of rules in the Bible that people consider outdated, like wearing mixed fibres and not associating with menstruating women. I think homosexuality is the same way."

Louis catches himself nodding along with Zayn enthusiastically. God, the dark-haired man is so eloquent. It's hard to believe the man sitting next to him would much rather keep to himself, when he's so suited for being in front of an audience. He glances to the blonde, and, seeing that she seems satisfied with Zayn's answer, calls for another question.

There are a few more generic questions. "Do you think being homosexual is a choice?" "What are your thoughts on gay marriage?" The usual.

Eventually, a redheaded man with freckles near the back of the room asks Lily about how her relationship with her partner works if they don't have sex.

Lily twirls a piece of hair around one finger. "For us, it's the same as any other relationship. We go on dates and cuddle and bicker over silly things. She leaves dishes in the sink and I use the last of the milk and don’t buy more. She tells me about her day and I bring her breakfast in bed. The only difference is that we don't have sex.” She smiles, hands spread out in front of her. “In my opinion, if sex is what defines a relationship, it isn't very fulfilling in the first place, you know?"

Louis could listen to Lily talk all day. Because she’s his only asexual panelist, he brings her along as often as possible. Being a very, ahem, sexual person himself, he's absolutely fascinated with her identity. He learns something new about her every time she opens her mouth, and she is the sole reason he's no longer ignorant about that segment of the LGBTQIA community.

When Lily finishes speaking, another round of hands goes up, more bravely now. Louis focuses on one near the middle of the lecture hall. "You there, with the curls," he calls. The students sitting nearby snicker.

The boy flushes, quickly pulling his hand out of the air. He looks up at Louis, cheeks still tinged pink, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. "My question is for you, Louis," he says, and Louis is surprised such a low voice comes from the cherub-faced student. "Erm, have you ever had any girlfriends? Like, before you came out?"

Louis smirks at the gravelly-voiced boy. "Define girlfriends," he replies, earning a laugh from his fellow panelists and several of the students as well. "I did actually, yeah. In high school I dated a girl for quite awhile because it was expected of me. We even had sex a few times, and I hated it, but chalked it up to us being virgins. It never got better, though, and that kind of confirmed my suspicions." He sits up straighter, tugging his baseball shirt over the slight swell of his tummy. "Since then it's been strictly men, and there's no going back."

Louis is about to call on a girl a couple rows behind the boy, but hesitates when the same hand is immediately back in the air. Louis wants to ignore the curly-haired man and call on someone else. He really does.

But... he also would like to hear those distressingly pink lips ask another question. "All right, Curly, one more," he says, unable to help the smile ghosting across his own lips.

The man beams graciously, the dimple cut into his cheek reminiscent of a comma. It certainly gives Louis pause, anyway. "Right, well, erm..." The student stumbles over his words, one hand pulling at the sleeve of his black shirt. "What made you decide to try, you know, _things,_ with a man? What was it like?" He isn't meeting Louis' eyes anymore, cheeks crimson with embarrassment.

Curious about this bashful, endearing boy, Louis leans forward, one elbow on his knee and chin resting on his fist. "I met someone the summer before I started uni who was gay. I was into him, and he was into me, so we gave it a go. It was clumsy, like any first time, but the parts that were good were _really_ good," Louis says, flicking his eyebrows up suggestively. The dimpled man nods slowly, looking like he desperately wants to raise his hand again, but he refrains. Louis reluctantly lets his gaze slide back to the pigtailed girl he was going to call on earlier.

For the rest of the panel, Louis' eyes keep going back to the boy, taking in bits and pieces of him with each brief glance: unruly, rich brown curls swept messily across his forehead; large, innocent features on ivory skin. Louis can't help himself wondering what the tight, black v-neck he wears smells like, and about the torso hidden underneath.

"Ten minute warning, Mr Tomlinson," Langley's voice rings out from behind Louis, making him jump, and it’s Zayn’s turn to snigger. Collecting himself, Louis slides off of his stool in one fluid motion and digs the manila folder out of his bag. "We have time for a couple more questions, but while we're talking, I have some feedback forms I'd really like for you all to fill out." Louis procures a stack of printouts, setting them down with a _thwack_ on the desk at the end of the row. "If you could take one and pass it along? Thanks. This feedback helps us make our program the best it can be, and also lets us know how effective these panels are." Once the papers are being distributed throughout the class, Louis returns to his seat and calls on a boy in glasses with a question for Skye.

Skye's description of the process of legally changing your sex ends up filling the rest of the period. As soon as she finishes speaking, there is a clamour of students stuffing things into bags and extracting themselves from their chairs. "Please pass me your forms on the way out! Thank you so much for having us and for all of your wonderful questions!" Louis calls over the din.

Nearly everyone hands him a completed form as they exit the lecture hall. He briefly makes eye contact with the curly-haired boy, their hands brushing as Louis takes the paper from him. The contact sets Louis’ skin alight, making him shiver even in the warmth of the stuffy classroom. The young man opens his mouth to say something, but then there's a surge of students rushing to leave, and just like that—he's gone.

♠♥♣♦

September ends without ado, slipping silently into October with rich autumn hues and falling leaves. Louis is folded into the computer chair at the front desk of the LGBTQ Centre, trying to get some work done during his second-to-last shift of the week. There had been another panel since the one for Langley's class, and Louis desperately needs to compile the responses from the feedback forms before Coming Out Week's hectic schedule.

It’s a fairly quiet afternoon in the centre. Nick, the coordinator, is hunched over his desk, working on programming for Coming Out Week. A few students are sat at a table, homework spread across the surface. Someone is napping on the overstuffed tan sofa, curled up in a crocheted rainbow afghan.  

Louis hums to himself and turns his attention back to the computer monitor. The forms are anonymous and fairly simple: There’s a section for students to rate their attitudes toward the LGBTQ community both before and after the panel, and a section for comments about the panel itself. Louis loves reading through the comments, seeing what people gleaned from the discussion and how he can make the program even better. OutSpeak had become his baby when he accepted a student staff position at the Resource Centre last September, and a year later he's quite pleased with what the program has become.

Louis is making quick work of the stacks of papers, typing comments from each one into a spreadsheet before returning it to a folder marked with the date. In his personal life, Louis is clutter and chaos. Work, however, is an entirely different story.

 He tucks away the form he’s just finished with the others, turning to the next one in the pile. His eyes skim down the page, taking in the loopy penmanship sprinkled over the form. They widen when he reaches the last box, headed with "Any other questions/comments?" The panel attendee had completely filled in that area, writing so much that an arrow pointing to the other side of the paper was necessary.

_Thank you for the panel and answering all of our questions. It really made me think. I have a few more questions and think I might like to talk to someone from your office. I know these forms are meant to be anonymous but my email address is styleshe@northernuniversity.edu. If you could have someone get in touch with me that would be brilliant. Thanks again!   H._

Louis reads over the words a few more times before setting the paper aside and scooting his chair closer to the outdated desktop computer. He wastes no time (well, other than the time it takes the dinosaur of a computer to load anything) in pulling up the Resource Centre's email client. Opening a new message, he carefully types in the address from the form. He feels slightly guilty that he put off looking through the paperwork so long, hoping the person who had submitted that form didn't think they weren't going to get a response. Louis' fingers quickly flit over the keys, able to type fairly well without needing to look at them.

_Good afternoon! I'm terribly sorry for not getting back to you sooner, I'm afraid I've only just seen your feedback form. I just wanted to thank you for reaching out to us and commend you on the bravery that it took, so well done. If you feel comfortable doing so, you can drop by our office anytime during business hours (listed in the signature of this email) or one of us can come to you. Just let us know what works best, we're happy to help. Cheers!_

_Louis Tomlinson, OutSpeak Coordinator_

Checking over the message for any grievous errors, Louis is satisfied and presses 'send.' He's curious as to who H. E. Styles might be, which of the many students in that classroom might have most needed to hear that panel discussion. And if his thoughts keep returning hopefully to curly locks and a shy smile, well.

The rest of his shift passes by without excitement. He finishes filing his paperwork, sets up a few panels for the coming weeks and emails his pool of panelists asking for volunteers, and fills the bowl of free condoms and dental dams sitting on the reception desk of the Centre. It’s one of the many perks of visiting the office regularly; he can't remember the last time he actually had to purchase condoms.

The end of Louis’ shift comes quickly. He's just gathered his things into his bag and is about to push his chair away from the desk when he decides to check the email account one last time, for the hell of it.

Much to Louis' delight, there is a new message sitting unread at the top of the page. He clicks on the message, sent from one Styles, Harry Edward.

_Mr Tomlinson,_

_Thanks so much for getting back to me! I really quite enjoyed your panel, thanks so much for answering my questions. I'm actually a little nervous about visiting the Centre, so would you be opposed to meeting for coffee sometime? I know you said anyone from your staff would be willing to meet me, but I think I'd prefer it to be you if it's not too much trouble. Familiar face and all that. Let me know!_

_Harry Styles .xx_

Louis can't help the grin spreading across his face. He’s almost certain that this Harry is the same boy who had asked two questions at the panel, both directed to Louis. It also makes Louis' chest flutter that a stranger feels comfortable enough to discuss such a sensitive subject with him in particular. That’s one of the things he strives for in his work, to be approachable. He has secret fantasies of taking over the LGBTQ Centre someday after his graduation—if Nick ever leaves, that is.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he pulls up his mobile email client. He taps out a quick reply to Harry from his personal address, asking for the other man's schedule (and definitely not signing it with a smiley face that perfectly matches Louis’ current expression). Once the message sends, he pockets the device and shoulders his bag, grinning madly the entire walk back to his flat.

♠♥♣♦

Louis fumbles the key in the lock for a moment, having to turn it a few times to get the mechanism to disengage. He and Zayn have shared this flat for the last year, ever since they had decided to both move off campus after their first year, and neither of them have ever gotten around to calling maintenance to fix the damn door.

Once he successfully bests the lock and makes it into the flat, he kicks off his TOMS, adding them to the pile of shoes next to the entryway.

Zayn casts a lazy look over his shoulder from his spot on the couch, beer in one hand and a PlayStation controller in the other. "Hey, mate," he calls, his voice soothing and slightly rough. Louis guesses there is about a ninety-seven percent chance the other man has just finished smoking.

Louis pads barefoot across the rough and creaking wooden floor, flopping into the mismatched arm chair sitting diagonally to the couch. "Hey, Zayner," he replies, curling up against the ghastly floral print of the chair. Their furniture is a hodge podge of thrift shop finds and hand-me-downs from family members, but it's good enough for the two men living there. The nice flat panel TV and collection of gaming consoles sits in stark contrast to the worn furnishings.

"How was your day?" Louis mumbles against the arm of the chair, idly picking at a spot where the stuffing is poking out.

Zayn finishes off his beer and sets it on the coffee table with the assortment of empty bottles already there. "It was all right, I suppose. I saw Liam."

Louis is upright in an instant, his legs tucked beneath him as he leans over the arm of the chair toward Zayn. "Liam? The cute boy who works at the printing centre?" Louis gushes.

Zayn's cheeks colour as he fiddles with the controller in his hands. "Yeah, that's the one. Nick needed someone to go pick up the printed calendars for Coming Out Week."

"And you volunteered."

"Yeah, I volunteered."

Louis rolls his eyes in mock exasperation. "Zaaayn. Why don't you just talk to him? I've seen him, and he seems like a really nice bloke!"

Zayn looks quite affronted, heavy eyebrows knit together in a scowl. "I did talk to him, thanks," he replies bitterly.

"'Is my order ready' doesn't count, I'm afraid. Does he even know your name?"

Zayn's scotch brown eyes fall to his lap. "I wear my name tag in there when I pick up orders," he mumbles, barely audible.

Louis reaches across the space between them to lightly squeeze Zayn's leg. "Oh, mate, you have got it so bad for that boy. What are we going to do with you?" he asks fondly.

Zayn meets his gaze, pasting on a helpless smile. "Keep letting me fetch the printing, I suppose."

Louis laughs, a ringing sound that permeates the thickness that has settled in the flat. "And I shall. Remind me tomorrow to convince Nick that I need more feedback forms for OutSpeak."

The previous smile is replaced with one that lights up Zayn's entire face. "Thanks, mate. You're the best."

Louis hums in agreement before unfolding himself from the chair, wandering into the kitchen to fetch himself a beer. He grabs another for his flatmate as well, opening both bottles against the countertop before returning to his seat.

"So," he says timidly, tapping lightly against the bottle in his hands.

"So?" Zayn echoes, arching an eyebrow. He takes a long pull from his beer, Adam's apple bobbing in the smooth, fawn-coloured skin of his throat.

Louis picks at the label of the bottle. "I went through the feedback forms from our panel for that sociology lecture the other day."

"Cool. Anything good?"

"You remember that boy who asked me two questions?" Louis asks, wondering if his friend had noticed the dimpled student as well.

Zayn thinks for a moment, recognition slowly creeping across his face. "Oh, yeah, the one with the hair," he says, waving a hand around his head to indicate the mess of curls. "What about him?"

"I think I've been emailing him."

"Yeah? What makes you say that?" Zayn asks, his lips pulled down in a hint of a frown.

Louis takes another drink, then sets the half empty beer on the wobbly side table to his left. "One of the forms had an email address on it, asking for someone to talk to. I think it's him. He mentioned asking me questions." Louis isn't sure why he feels so anxious talking to Zayn about this. He's met with several other questioning students before. It’s never a big deal, and on a couple occasions he'd come out of the meetings with a new friend. So what is it about this Styles kid that has him so on edge?

"He wants to meet for coffee," Louis adds lamely, and Zayn's eyebrows creep higher on his forehead.

"Just coffee, yeah?" Zayn says evenly.

Louis blinks at Zayn, knowing exactly what the other man is implying. Not because he has ever used one of these meetings to hook up with someone before, nor would he, but he does possess a certain amount of notoriety for being, shall we say, very _giving_ with his affection. Bristling a little, Louis crosses lean arms over his chest. "Yes, Zayn, just coffee. I'm not going to corrupt this poor confused lad." _Even if he is quite striking and I can't stop thinking about how that throaty voice sounded saying my name._

Zayn lets it go, eyebrows relaxing and returning his attention to the game he has paused on the television. "Whatevs, mate. Just be careful, yeah? You know people like to talk shit." He spares Louis a brief glance, winking one amber eye in his direction. "Wouldn't want to tarnish your sterling reputation and all."

With a squawk of indignation, Louis pulls the throw pillow from behind his back and chucks it at Zayn. "My reputation is spotless, I'll have you know! That's it, I'm not having this kind of abuse." He springs out of the chair, claiming his bag from where he had tossed it by the door and sticking his nose haughtily in the air. "If you need me, I'll be in my room."

"Probably creeping on that poor lad's Facebook," Zayn replies in a sing-song voice.

Louis scoffs. "The thought never even occurred to me," he shoots back, pretending to stomp away angrily. Nevertheless, he shuts the door to his room firmly behind him and flops down on his bed, pulling his battered laptop from his book bag to power it up. Navigating to Facebook is second nature.  Louis casually checks his notifications and writes a few birthday messages on people’s walls before he finds his cursor hovering over the search bar.

"Don't do it, Tommo. What does it matter if it's the same guy? You're just doing your job, is all," he tells himself under his breath. He thinks for a moment, fingers tapping lightly across the trackpad. _Screw it. It doesn't matter. So I'm checking._ He moves his fingers over the keys, tapping out _Harry Styles_ and pressing enter.

Several results pop up, and Louis has to lean close to the screen to squint at the column of tiny photos. He skips past the first two results, one too old and the other quite ginger, before clicking on the third.

The profile picture is of the same curly-haired brunet from the sociology class, clad in a black blazer over a simple white shirt. Louis' breath catches momentarily. He knew, just knew, that it was going to be, but the confirmation still takes him by surprise.

He skims over the rest of Harry's profile, but unfortunately not much is visible without adding Harry as a friend. Louis groans, pushing the laptop away and burying his face against the mattress. He just wanted to know more about the boy he was going to be helping, that's all.

There is absolutely no attraction there whatsoever, he tells himself.

"All right, Louis?" Zayn's muffled voice calls from the kitchen, followed by the sound of a load of empty bottles being dumped into the garbage bin.

"Fine, thanks!" he manages, not bothering to lift his face away from the bed. Sighing dramatically, he rolls over to his back and pulls his mobile out of his pocket. His eyes snap to the notification bar at the top of the screen. One new email. He taps it open, and sure enough the message is from Harry.

Harry had sent along a copy of his schedule, as well as his phone number. "In case it's more convenient for you to text," Harry had written. Louis saves the number to his phone, heart thudding heavily as he opens up a new text message.

_This is Louis from the panel!_

A few moments pass by, and then:

_Hiii, Louis from the panel! :D_

Louis rolls his eyes, smiling at the emoticon and the drawn out "hi."

_I notice you have some free time tomorrow afternoon. We could meet after my shift? 2 pm at the coffee place near the student union?_

Another couple of moments, and his phones chimes.

_Sounds great! I'll see you there! I'll be the one with the curly hair and the purple hoodie. .xx_

Louis absolutely cannot believe this boy. It’s like texting in high school all over again, with the kisses and smiles. Then again, according to the feedback form he’d turned in, Harry is only a fresher.

"Exactly, he's a baby and you're going to leave him alone," Louis tells himself firmly, firing off a quick _See you then!_ before pocketing his mobile and digging his textbooks out of his bag.

Harry doesn't text again for the rest of the evening, and Louis tries not to check his mobile every so often just in case.

♠♥♣♦

Friday crawls by, agonisingly slow. Louis has two lectures to attend that morning, New American Theatre at nine and then Performance of Literature at ten, and neither fifty minute class has ever seemed to last as long as they do that day. When Louis finally pushes out of the Fine Arts building at precisely 10:52 am, he only has to get through a short shift at the LGBTQ Centre before meeting up with Harry.

As Louis strolls across the scenic campus to the student union, where most of the student life offices are located, he finds himself feeling rather optimistic. Though it’s a fairly dreary day, all grey skies and autumn breeze carrying a warning bite of winter, Louis takes the time to appreciate how green the grass looks against the hazy sky, how the leaves that have already changed colour seem like stage lights hung in the trees. He's grinning like a maniac, he can tell, not hesitating to flash his toothy smile at anyone who dares make eye contact with him. It's simply a good day, he tells himself, not allowing himself to ruminate on why he’s feeling so chipper. It certainly has nothing to do with Harry Styles.

The Resource Centre is in a tizzy when Louis steps through the door. Zayn is sitting at the front desk, his face adorned with thick-framed glasses today. "Run," he mouths at Louis, jerking his head towards Nick's desk.

Louis follows Zayn's motion and sees Nick, stood over his desk with the office telephone clutched tightly in his fist. He's yelling something about room reservations and gesticulating wildly with his free hand. One overzealous flail sends a large, neat stack of fliers to the floor, scattering the colourful paper around his desk like enormous confetti.

With a sigh, Louis exchanges a knowing glance with Zayn before moving to pick up the multicoloured clutter. The fliers are advertising key events for Coming Out Week, the Centre’s largest event of the term. There will be panels, speakers, and activities all week long, culminating in National Coming Out Day. Now, only a week and a half away, all of the student staff members (and Nick, apparently), are starting to stress about everything coming together properly.

He's just finished tidying up the mess Nick had made when the coordinator slams down the phone, throwing himself into his padded desk chair like a child having a tantrum. "I hate dealing with the administrative staff!" Nick moans, pressing the heels of his hands over his eyes.

Louis places the stack of fliers back on the desk, carefully nudging them away from the edge in case any more flailing should occur. He shifts his weight to one leg, sliding his bum up to barely rest on Nick's disorganised desktop. "What's happened now, then?"

Nick drags his hands down away from his eyes, pulling the skin of his face into a ghastly expression as he does. "They've double booked one of the lecture halls we need this week, the one for our keynote speaker." He groans, releasing his face and clasping his hands together under his chin. "We spent a huge chunk of our budget on this, and now we don't even have a room." He turns his drooping blue eyes on Louis, sticking out his bottom lip. "D'you think you could..."

"Spend my shift looking for suitable spaces we could use instead?" Louis supplies, his voice flat.

“Excellent!” Nick claps his hands together before spinning his chair away from Louis, needing nothing further from his staff member. "Let me know what you find out so I can send out an email about the location change!"

Louis slides off the desk and trudges over to the table closest to the front desk. He had not planned on wasting an entire shift doing Nick's bidding, but he isn't all that surprised. Last year he spent every shift for a week sorting Skittles, separating the colours into different jars to fashion a table decoration for an event that lasted all of two hours. Louis never wants to see another Skittle again in his life.

At the very least, focusing on trying to find a room for the speaker occupies his mind and keeps him from thinking about his impending meeting with Harry. Next to him at the table is Kyle, a second year student, who’s making a slew of buttons to hand out during Coming Out Week. One of his creations, a button with "yes, homo!" in rainbow letters emblazoned on a black background, is pinned to the front of his pastel yellow polo.

Kyle chucks his latest masterpiece into a heap with the others he's finished, a graphic of the asexual pride flag with "Ace" in stylised letters in the centre. He leans his forehead against the button making machine. "Is it always like this?" he mutters, new to the staff and clearly unprepared for this type of frenetic enterprise.

Louis lets out a bleat of laughter, slapping a hand on Kyle's slumped shoulders. "Oh, my dear lad, you have no idea." When Kyle wearily raises his head, something akin to horror in his eyes, Louis continues, "Just wait until the spring. Pride Month, innit? A whole month of programming."

Kyle lowers his head again, groaning loud enough that the students reading on the couch toss him a curious stare. Louis waves them off, smiling, before turning back to his laptop.

It's 1:50 when Louis finally manages to find a suitable room to reserve for their keynote speaker. Swearing under his breath, he fills out the reservation form as quickly as possible and hastily forwards the confirmation email to Nick. The coffee shop is just downstairs, but Louis had been hoping to get there first. He doesn't want to make it too obvious he knows exactly what Harry looks like.

A mere eight minutes later, Louis is breezing through the door of the coffee shop, fluffing his fringe with one hand while locating his mobile with the other. No text from Harry saying he's arrived yet, so that's a good sign. Had Harry been early to the panel? Louis can't seem to remember, didn't have an impression of him before he picked that hand out of those around it to call upon.

He glances about the shop, looking for the purple hoodie Harry had mentioned.

His phone vibrates in his hand then, making Louis jump and drawing a glare from the girl he very nearly stumbles into. Muttering an apology, he peers down at a new text from Harry.

_I see yoooou. :)_

Louis shakes his head slightly at the boy's seemingly endless supply of vowels. He’s just lifted his gaze to check the other side of the shop when he collides with a warm, lean body.

"Sorry, sorry!" Louis yelps, gripping the biceps of the person to steady himself. His eyes travel from the purple clad forearms underneath his hands, up a flat chest bearing the word "Hollister," and settling on the face of Harry Styles.

"Did I scare you?" Harry asks, an edge of amusement in his voice.

Louis quickly releases Harry's arms, smoothing the front of his own short-sleeved button-down shirt. "Ah, a bit, yeah." He cocks his head to the side, taking in the boy in front of him from the scuffed Converse on his feet to the striking green of his eyes. "You're, er, taller than you look sitting down."

Harry emits a sound rather like a duck getting stepped on, clasping his hands over his mouth the moment the noise leaves his lips. He stands like that for a moment, staring at Louis over his overlapping hands, before his shoulders start to shake in silent giggles.

Unable to resist, Louis finds himself laughing along as well. It isn't until a man clears his throat loudly that Louis remembers they're still stood in the middle of the floor of a busy shop. Louis grins apologetically and lets the man slide past while Harry recovers from his fit of laughter.

"I'm sorry, I have no idea why that was so funny. I don't think I've ever made that noise before," he says, smiling widely enough that his dimple makes an appearance.

Louis returns the expression, eyes crinkling around the edges. "I think you'll find I'm quite funny all the time, young Mr. Styles. Now why don't we get something to drink and find a place to sit?"

After they've both obtained drinks from the bubbly barista, Harry and Louis wind through the maze of tables to a little booth in the back corner. Louis climbs in first, tucking his bag against the wall and sliding his steaming cup of tea across the table. Harry follows suit, his knees momentarily bumping against Louis' as he sits opposite him.

Harry takes a sip of his latte, eyes fluttering closed as he savours the taste. "The first pumpkin flavoured beverage of the year is always the best," he explains to Louis, setting the paper cup down. He traces over his name on the side, scrawled in the barista's rounded penmanship.

They sit there for a few minutes in a sombre silence. Louis had worried it was going to be awkward, as talking about personal details with strangers tends to be, and he never really gets used to it. "So," he ventures finally, unable to bear the heavy atmosphere of their booth. "What did you want to talk to me about, Harold?"

Harry's full lips curl up at the moniker. "It's just Harry, actually," he says, voice a little shaky.

Louis takes in the clench of Harry's hands around his drink and the teeth marks still visible in his bottom lip from where he'd been chewing at it. The lad is clearly nervous. Louis reaches out a hand and gently squeezes Harry's forearm. "Well then, Just Harry, I'm all ears. Whatever you say stays between the two of us."

Harry's widened eyes flick back and forth between Louis', looking every bit like a startled deer. He takes one more swallow of his coffee, holding the cup to his mouth just a bit longer than is necessary, before returning it to the table with a wavering sigh. "I don't really know where to begin," he says quietly, sounding so much smaller than he is.

Realising he's still clasping Harry's arm, Louis gives it a reassuring pat before threading his own fingers together on the table in front of him. "It's okay, mate, take your time. I've got nowhere to be, okay?" Louis says soothingly. "What was going through your mind when you put your email address on that form?"

Harry traces the grain of the wooden table with one long, elegant finger. His eyes follow the progress, lashes a dark halo against the pale skin of his cheeks. "I've wondered for a long time, you know?" he says finally, voice a shade deeper than normal. "I'm from a pretty small town, and there aren't exactly any... _gay_ people there," he whispers the word "gay" as if he's afraid of someone hearing.

Picking at a gouge at the edge of the table, he continues. "I never thought to question myself. I dated girls all through my schooling and I, erm, had sex a time or two. It was never like people say it's going to be, fireworks and all that. I just figured I had built it all up in my head so much—sex, romance, dating—that the real experiences couldn't stack up." He shrugs helplessly. "I thought I had ruined myself for relationships."

Louis watches the man speak, not wanting to interrupt for fear of making Harry clam up. Harry's cheeks are flushed, his lower lip trembling ever so slightly, and Louis wants nothing more than to reach out and take this fascinating creature's hand. He doesn't, though, opting instead to place an elbow on the table and prop up his chin.

Harry watches Louis' movements distractedly. "Once I got to university this autumn, taking sociology courses, talking about gender and sexuality, it made me think. Maybe my expectations weren't too high, but maybe I hadn't tried it with the right person, you know?" His eyes meet Louis' then, eyebrows drawn up in a pleading look of fear. "I think I might be gay, Louis." He sits in stunned silence for a minute, hand flying to touch his lips as if they had betrayed him somehow.

"That's the first time you've said it out loud, isn't it?" Louis asks gently, his voice scratchy and warm.

Harry nods fervently, curls bouncing and eyes slowly glossing over with the threat of tears.

Oh, dear. If there's one thing Louis can't handle, it's seeing pretty boys cry.

"Hey, hey, it's all right," Louis soothes, finally giving in to the urge to reach out and cover one of Harry's hands with his own. He marvels at how small and delicate his hand seems on top of Harry's larger ones.

Harry appears to be thinking along the same vein. He flips his hand over, clutching onto Louis' like a lifeline. He doesn't keep hold for long, though, pulling away and scanning the crowded coffee shop for a sign that someone might have seen.

Satisfied that the hand holding has gone unnoticed, Harry turns back to Louis. "Sorry for pulling away. I just don't need a bunch of people making assumptions when I'm still trying to sort it out myself." He guiltily avoids Louis' concerned gaze.

"Don't worry about it. I should have asked if it was okay."

"Yeah. It was. Thank you," Harry says, managing a smile despite his watery eyes. He clears his throat. "I think the panel is what really did it for me, though. Hearing you talk about how you'd always looked at men without a second thought, it made me think about all the times I've caught myself appreciating how fit some guy was." His smile wanes. "And now I'm just confused. I've spent my whole life thinking one thing, and suddenly there are all these different options. How am I supposed to know?" he implores.

Louis' heart aches for the distraught boy in front of him. Coming from a very open, accepting family, he had never had to fight his way out of the closet. Hell, his closet hadn't even had a door. Yet here Harry is, seemingly trapped in an entire dressing room and not knowing which wardrobe would lead him out of Narnia.

"We'll figure it out, all right? You and me. You don't have to do this alone, Harry," Louis says, holding out a hand once more but not touching Harry's without permission.

Harry's tears finally do spill over, running down his cheeks. When he smiles at Louis, a couple catch in the curve of his dimple. "I'd like that," he nearly whispers, reaching out and clasping Louis' hand in his own.

Harry's hand is warm and smooth, and Louis gives it a gentle squeeze before relaxing his grip so Harry can pull away without feeling awkward. "Why don't you come by the Resource Centre sometime? I can show you around, introduce you to some people." At the hesitant look Harry gives him, Louis adds: "Not everyone there is gay. We have staff members who are allies of the LGBTQ community, and no one in the Centre is going to gossip about you being there."

Harry looks slightly more relaxed, though still unsure. "I'm scared," he admits, that deep voice of his suddenly small. The tears that had finally begun to subside return in full force.

"It's okay to be scared. But lucky for you, you're in a place with a ton of resources and people who want to help you. You're not some lonely teenager still living at home with no one to turn to." Louis bares his teeth in an exaggerated smile. "I happen to be an expert on being a homosexual, Harry Styles, and I would be glad to take you under my wing."

Harry laughs at that, pulling the sleeve of his hoodie over his hand and swiping at his damp cheeks. "Yeah, all right." He lifts his chin slightly, the tiniest of smiles pulling at his rose pink lips. "Thanks, Lou."

Louis' heart flutters at the nickname, his cheesy grin morphing into one of delight. "Well, you have my number. Text me any time, all right? And not just when you need to talk about this. Want to meet the same time next week?"

"Sure, sounds great," Harry readily agrees, the red of his teary eyes making his irises a brilliant green. He pulls his mobile out of the pocket of his sweatshirt, checking the time. "I actually need to get to a meeting for a project, if you don't mind?"

Grabbing his forgotten tea, long since cold, Louis slides out of the booth and stretches. "Yeah, I need to get home as well. Zayn—you remember him from the panel?—He and I have plans tonight and I haven't a clue what I'm going to wear." Harry chuckles and Louis extends his hand. "It's been a pleasure, Harry."

Still giggling, Harry shakes Louis' hand, his fingertips brushing against the inside of the shorter man's wrist. "Thanks so much, Louis. Just knowing I have someone in my corner makes me feel so much better." He releases Louis' hand and shoves his own into the pocket on the front of the hoodie. "I'll text you," he says as he turns to leave the shop.

"I'm counting on it!" Louis calls after him, bright voice carrying over the din of the busy café. And, he thinks to himself, he really is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you guys enough for reading! I have 8/10 chapters finished, with 9 well underway, so I promise I won't leave you hanging. <3 
> 
> If you enjoyed this, I would be thrilled if you would like and reblog the [tumblr post!](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com/post/114940355621/bsh)
> 
> See you next Sundayyy!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! With tomorrow being Easter, I decided to post a day ahead of schedule.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has read, commented, and left kudos! I appreciate it so much! I also see all the lovely tags on the tumblr post. You guys are the best.
> 
> As always, thanks to the incomparable [Sarah](http://letstalkaboutharrysbuns.tumblr.com). This would never see the light of day without her magic touch.
> 
> Song for this chapter is "The Tension and the Terror" - Straylight Run.
> 
> Warning for super duper brief Louis/OMC. Like, blink and you'll miss it.

"I don't have anything to wear!"

Louis is pawing through his small wardrobe, trying to decide on an outfit for his night out with Zayn. It's the first Friday night this term neither of them has anything going on, and _by god_ they are going to celebrate.

"Louis, all you own are band t-shirts and skinny jeans." Zayn's exasperated voice floats down the hall from the other bedroom. "Pick out one of each and you're sorted, mate!"

"Loads of help you are!" Louis shoots back, silently willing all of Zayn's eyebrow hairs to fall out. It would serve him right.

His flatmate has a point, however. Louis, while not particularly sartorial, knows what works for him and what doesn’t. He rifles through the cupboard one more time, finally selecting a cornflower blue button-down that brings out his eyes. He pulls it on, nimble fingers making quick work of the buttons. He slides into a pair of black skinny jeans, the ones that hug his arse like they were handmade for him, and sets to work styling his chestnut hair up into a quiff.

Half an hour, three rounds of shots, and one screaming match about who was on wingman duty later, Zayn and Louis are strolling up to the door of the club arm in arm. The White Swallow is the local gay club popular with university students (and a few high schoolers as they become of age). It has a pretty decent dance floor, a stellar drag show, and, ah, fairly large bathroom stalls. Not that Louis would know.

Even though it's early, the queue is already stretched along the front of the unassuming brick building.

Zayn and Louis slot themselves into it behind a man wearing a mesh top and another in leather pants that might actually be painted on. Mesh Shirt turns and gives the newcomers a thirsty once-over, and Louis' eyes are drawn to the glint of a nipple ring peeking through the netted fabric. _Hmmm._

The line moves fairly quickly, the holdup due to checking IDs at the door rather than the club being too full. When Louis goes to show his ID to the bouncer, he gets a booming laugh in return.

"Put that away. Like I don't know who you two are," Paul the Bouncer says, a jovial smile deepening the lines on his face. "I was surprised I hadn't seen the pair of you yet this semester."

"Been busy, school and all," Louis replies, grinning as he slips his ID card back into his wallet.

Paul snorts. "I'm sure that's what you've been busy with. Go on, then, and behave yourselves!" He quickly stamps both of their hands.

"You know we will!" Zayn calls back, holding the door open for Louis. Louis snakes an arm around Zayn's waist and together they step into the thrumming atmosphere of the Swallow.

The club is packed, nearly all of the seats around the drag stage taken. Louis grabs Zayn's hand and pulls him to a high top table next to the smoking patio, standing on his tip toes in order to hoist himself into the tall chair.

"I'll go get us drinks!" Zayn calls over the music. Louis just nods in reply, his carefully styled hair bouncing with the motion.

He watches Zayn snake through the tightly packed mass of bodies, counting the number of guys who check out his flatmate's arse as he passes by. Living with Zayn has not made Louis immune to how stunningly attractive his friend is, but Zayn is like a brother to him. A very fit brother, but a brother all the same. Still, he finds endless amusement in other people seeing the glory that is Zayn Malik in the flesh for the first time.

"Heyyy, stranger," a voice purrs in Louis' ear. He startles, jerking his head toward the sound, and is met with a pleasantly round face dotted with piercings.

"Dee!" he squeals, throwing his arms around the girl.

She laughingly pushes him off. "Nice to see you out and about! I was worried you'd settled down on us!" She tosses her neon pink hair over her shoulder and looks Louis up and down. "You look good. Where's Zaynie?"

"As do you. He's getting drinks, actually. Where's your lovely girlfriend?"

Deanna jerks a thumb toward the stage. "Performing tonight, actually. I should be back there helping her dress, if I'm honest. I just saw you over here and had to come say hello!" With a promise to find him after the show, Dee presses a kiss to his cheek and disappears through the door leading to the dressing rooms backstage.

Deanna and Shayla were some of the very first friends he'd made his first year. They had all met at the LGBTQ Centre's fall mixer, and along with Zayn they had formed a tight knit group. Once Shay and Dee started dating, the boys saw less and less of them, but they still get together now and again for a night out.

He spies Zayn cutting through the crowd like he's parting the queer sea, a beer in one hand and a bright red concoction in the other. He slides the colourful beverage over to Louis and climbs into his seat, taking a quick swallow from his bottle.

Louis eyes the drink curiously. "Mama-Licious with extra grenadine?" he queries.

Zayn sets the beer down on the table, licking his pale lips. "You know it."

With a grin, Louis brings the cocktail to his mouth and takes a long sip from the straw. He lets out an exaggerated moan as he drinks, the sweet liquor clinging to his tongue even after he swallows. "Kat must be bartending tonight," he says approvingly, stirring the the foamy liquid around with the straw.

"Yeah, she is. She said if you don't come over and say hello later that she's putting you on the permanent no-serve list."

Mouth hanging open indignantly, Louis plucks the strawberry from the rim of the collins glass.

"Rude," he says, popping the ripe berry into his mouth. "Shay's in the show tonight, by the way. Dee's here too."

"Sick," Zayn says with a grin, just as the music lowers in volume and the feedback of a microphone brays from the sound system.

"Hello, boys and girls and everyone else!" Winnie Licksit, the emcee, calls as she steps onstage. Her voluminous blond wig is piled into a teetering beehive. She introduces the drag show and the first performer comes out, a petite queen in a black spandex bodysuit. Louis isn't sure how the queens keep their equipment hidden in such tight clothing, but he has a feeling it depends a lot on duct tape and faith.

The show is exceptionally good tonight, the crowd energetic and tipping well. When Shayla's drag persona, Holden Toucher, steps on the stage, the two boys leap to their feet, hollering loudly for their friend.

Holden performs quite the suggestive version of some top 40 song Louis isn't familiar with. He absolutely loves to see Shayla come out of her shell as Holden. Holden is sexy and confident, grinding on audience members and taking dollars from their cleavage with his teeth, whereas Shay is quiet and shy and hates PDA. Louis often wonders what his stage persona would be like. Would he flirt with the crowd? Grab himself and thrust his hips to the screams of his adoring fans?

Once the show is over, the stage lights are dimmed and the dance floor fills with a crush of bodies. Louis finishes off his drink, sliding down from the stool. "Wish me luck, mate!" he shouts over the noise, giving Zayn a thumbs up. Zayn tosses his head back in a laugh and returns the gesture, and with that Louis squeezes onto the dance floor.

He isn't dancing alone for long, arms raised above his head and hips swaying suggestively in time with the beat, when he feels a hand on his hip. He coyly glances over his shoulder at the warm body pressing into him. _Ah, Mesh Shirt_. Louis presses his bum back into the stranger's groin, giving his hips a little roll.

Mesh Shirt groans and grabs Louis' other hip as well, pulling their bodies even closer together. They move in tandem like that, Louis reaching his arms back to twine them around the broad neck of his dance partner. He tilts his head as the larger man dips his face to Louis' neck, nipping roughly at the sensitive skin.

Gasping at the teeth grazing his neck, Louis spins himself around in the other man's arms, raising up on the balls of his feet to press their erections together. "Toilets?" he murmurs into Mesh Shirt's ear, reaching a hand between them to palm the bulge in the stranger's jeans.

Mesh Shirt nods emphatically in reply, grabbing Louis' hand and all but dragging him off the dance floor. He just has time to glance over his shoulder and make eye contact with Zayn.

His flatmate has both thumbs raised, and it looks like he's mouthing "Get it!"

His laughter swallowed by the pounding music in the club, Louis allows himself to be pulled to the men's restroom.

The room is empty when Louis and Mesh Shirt crash through the door, mouths and tongues colliding. Louis slams the larger man up against the wall, rucking up the mesh of the shirt and reaching to tug at the enticing metal loop through his nipple. The stranger gasps at that, hauling Louis into the large, accessible stall farthest from the door.

Once the stall door is fastened behind them, Louis drops to his knees. Making quick work of Mesh Shirt's fly, he tugs down his tight jeans and pants, exposing the man's fully erect cock. Louis wastes no time engulfing it with his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he slides from the tip down the shaft. Mesh Shirt moans, grasping a handful of Louis' hair and pulling, styling be damned.

Louis winces slightly at the rough treatment but keeps going, bracing his hands against the man's muscular thighs as he works up and down the length of his erection. He pulls his lips off to the tip, running his tongue around the head of Mesh Shirt's cock before taking him down to the hilt once more. Louis feels the head nudge at the back of his throat, his gag reflex protesting slightly. He presses his tongue flat against the underside of Mesh Shirt's dick, removing his mouth long enough to whisper, "Come for me, babe," wrapping a slender hand around the base and stroking it in time to the flicks of his tongue around the head. Mesh Shirt lets out a low grunt, his thigh tensing under Louis' passive hand as he reaches his climax.

Louis pulls off just in time for the stream of come to paint the stall door behind him like bizarre graffiti.

Louis wipes his lips off as he climbs to his feet, knees aching from the cold tile of the bathroom floor. Mesh Shirt has his eyes closed, and when they finally drift open Louis finds himself wondering what a certain pair of green eyes might look like in their stead, blissed out and pupils blown. He physically shakes his head to clear the thoughts. _You are not thinking of Harry mere seconds after sucking off a stranger,_ he chastises himself.

Mesh Shirt is doing up his jeans when Louis regains focus. He gives Louis a smug smile, as if he'd just done him a favour by letting him suck his cock. "I suppose you want a go now?" The man's tone implies that he'd really rather not stay and assist.

Louis wads up a string of toilet paper, hastily swiping it across the mess on the stall door and flushing it away. "It's all right, mate, I'm good." He’s not even hard anymore. Thoughts of his newfound friend had done a great deal to snap him out of his alcohol-induced lust, and Louis finds himself just wanting to go home and crawl into bed.

Mesh Shirt shrugs. "Suit yourself. Thanks for a good time." He reaches around Louis to unlock the door and push it open, brushing past him with a quick pat on the bum.

After Louis hears the door to the loo open and close, he sits down on the toilet, scrubbing his hands over his face. Finding himself suddenly far too sober after a disappointing tryst with a strange man was not exactly how he'd seen this night going.

Sometime later, the bathroom door opens again, the thrum of the music temporarily infiltrating the space. "Louis? In here, mate?"

Zayn. Louis stands and peeks his head out of the stall. Sure enough, Zayn is holding the bathroom door open, eyes wide with worry.

"When he came out and you didn't, I had to make sure you were okay," he explains, visibly relaxing at having found Louis in one piece.

Louis steps to the sink and turns on the tap, cupping water in his hands to rinse the taste of the other man from his mouth. Once he spits out all the water and dries off, he joins Zayn by the door. "Not as good as I hoped. You having any luck?"

Zayn shrugs, hands slipped into the pockets of his trousers. "Nah. Didn't bother. I'd just end up wishing he were Liam."

Louis reaches up to ruffle Zayn's thick black hair. "Oh, you are so gone for that boy. One of these days you'll have to actually do something about it." Louis doesn't tell him the part about how he can relate, that the reason his hook up had been so unsatisfying is the dimpled, grinning face crowding his mind.

♠♥♣♦

The cab ride home passes quickly, Louis curled into Zayn's side in the backseat. Neither of them had much felt like walking back, and the autumn air is considerably cooler than it had been hours ago. They had stayed to have a few drinks with Dee and Shay, and Louis is certainly feeling the alcohol coursing through his system even if Zayn seems as stoic as ever.

Zayn takes on the arduous task of wrestling with the lock tonight, Louis leaning against the doorframe with his forehead against the peeling wood. Once the door finally swings inward, Zayn gently leads Louis inside and directly to his bedroom.

Louis falls into his unmade bed with a sigh of relief, stretching out like a starfish on the double mattress. The edge dips slightly as Zayn sits down in the space not filled with Louis’ outflung limbs.

"Cuddle me," Louis demands, rolling toward his flatmate and latching his arms around the other boy's waist.

"Get off, you clingy arse!" Laughing, Zayn worms out of Louis' grasp, fondly ruffling his hair. "Need me to get you some water or anything?"

Pouting, Louis pulls a spare pillow to his chest and clutches it tightly. "I think I'm okay. Just need to go to sleep and make better decisions tomorrow." He scrunches up his nose. "I knew that last round of shots was going to come back to bite me in the arse."

"Well, it's such a great arse!" Zayn teases, smacking the aforementioned derriere. "Sleep well then, mate." He bends and places an exaggerated kiss to Louis' forehead.

"Night, Zayner," Louis calls out as the younger man crosses the room and slips out the door, closing it softly behind him.

Louis flops over onto his back, still holding the pillow to him. He reaches a hand into his back pocket, removing the uncomfortable lump of his wallet and tossing it toward his nightstand. _I should really get out of these clothes..._ Deciding it would be too much effort in his inebriated state, he pulls out his mobile and opens his text messages.

To his pleasure, he has one unread text from Harry, timestamped from around 11 pm. Louis squints at the tiny numbers in the upper corner of his phone screen. It’s just past 1 am now. _I wonder if he's still up._ Curious, he opens the message.

_Thanks so much for today. Means a lot to me .xx_

Only briefly telling himself it’s probably far too late to text the innocent fresher he just met, Louis taps out a reply.

_anytime! looking forward to the next meeting :)_

He's too exhausted to care about proper capitalization (and impressed that it only took two attempts to spell everything correctly) or to second-guess the smiley face until after the text is sent. Oh, well. To be fair, Harry had started sending emojis first.

He's nearly drifted off, phone loosely clasped in one hand, when his text notification sounds. Blearily he goes to unlock the screen and very nearly drops his mobile on his face in the process. The new message is from Harry.

_Me tooooo! :D_

Another text comes in after Louis' barely read the first one.

_Early class tomorrow! Niiiight! xxxx_

Louis raises his eyebrows, noting that Harry's generosity with vowels seems to apply to x's as well. It's really kind of endearing. And adorable. Someone should tell Harry that.

_youre adorable. night x_

He waits a few minutes, but no more texts from Harry come in. He falls asleep to visions of green eyes and pink lips pressing tiny little crosses into his skin.

♠♥♣♦

The first day of Coming Out Week arrives with a flurry of excitement. Louis has at least five of the buttons Kyle made pinned to various parts of his outfit and has managed to sneak a few onto Zayn as well. Today's big events include two discussion groups and a tie dye party for apparel to wear in the coming out photo later in the week. As a staff member, Louis plans to spend every spare moment of the day at the info table set up in the student union, handing out buttons and event calendars to as many students as possible.

Louis is currently sitting at the table with Skye, having a competition to see who can distribute their stack of calendars the fastest. Music blares from the speakers of Skye's laptop, and Louis is dancing in his chair along to the song.

"It's like you're my mirror! My mirror staring back at me!" he sings, ignoring the sideways glances he's getting from the knitting club table a little further down.

Skye shakes her head, pretending to plug her ears with impeccably manicured fingers. "Louis, mate, let JT sing it!" she giggles.

Louis tosses his head back, laughing, before climbing on top of his chair to serenade Skye. "I couldn't get any bigger! With anyone else beside me!" He bends and takes one of her hands in both of his. "And now it's–" He hushes suddenly when he notices a very familiar pair of eyes watching him with amusement from across the student centre.

Harry.

As the other boy approaches, Louis sheepishly steps off his chair and sits back down. Harry stops just in front of the table, one hand holding the strap of his backpack around his shoulder. Louis is sure he's bright red; he can feel the heat in his ears. "All right, Harry?" he manages, voice pitched higher than usual.

Harry's lips are stretched in a grin, and Louis notices for the first time the tiny mole just under the left side of his mouth. Louis' gaze slowly sweeps up Harry's face to meet the other man's eyes, practically sparkling in the light drifting in through the high windows. "I'm good, Louis, what about you?" There's a teasing undertone in the rasp of his voice.

Louis looks away, busying himself with tidying the piles of paper and buttons on the table, ignoring the curious glances from Skye he can see out of the corner of his eye. "I'm good. Just, ah, you know. Busy week and all that." He holds an event calendar out to Harry, who takes it and begins to read.

They had had their second "coffee date," as Zayn calls them, on Friday. Harry had been in much higher spirits, more keen on asking Louis questions than talking about himself.

_"Have you ever had a boyfriend?" Harry had asked, sipping on his coffee. He had his hair pulled back under a beanie, escaped curls framing the side of his face._

_"Yeah, a couple," Louis answered, shrugging. "Nothing serious, really." Harry pressed for more information, so Louis told him about the boy he briefly dated over the summer before coming to university, ending things because of the distance, and the one he'd been with his first year but who had moved on to someone older and hotter._

_"Did you want it to get serious?" Harry asked._

_Louis shrugged. "Sure, eventually. Maybe not with either of those two, though. You cannot tell anyone this, and they wouldn't believe you anyway, but deep down I am quite the hopeless romantic."_

_He gave Harry's foot a playful nudge under the table._

_"Your secret is safe with me,” Harry laughed, kicking back. “Are you seeing anyone now? I thought maybe you and Zayn had something going on..."_

_Louis quite nearly sprayed his tea across the table at the remark. "What on earth gave you that idea?" he cried, once he recovered from the combination of coughing and laughter._

_Harry looked uncomfortable, crossing his arms over his torso and closing himself off. "I don't know. You live together. You seemed to get on well during the panel. You're both really fit. It just made sense to me, I guess."_

_"No, no. No history between Zayn and I. I had a bit of a crush on him when we first met, but who wouldn't? He's beautiful." It took him a moment to realize:_ Did Harry just call me fit?

_He changed gears, not willing to dwell on the compliment. "What's with all the boyfriend questions, hmm? Have you got your eye on someone? Zayn's actually single, if that’s what you were wondering." He waggled his eyebrows teasingly across the table._

_Harry sputtered, ducking his head. It did little to hide the pink flush darkening the apples of his cheeks. "Er, no, I just was thinking I might like to try having a boyfriend at some point. Once I get all this"—he gestured to himself—"figured out."_

_Louis smiled fondly at the boy sat opposite him, amazed at how much more confident Harry sounded even after just a week of exploring his identity. "I think you've got yourself a lot more figured out than you realise, mate."_

Louis snaps back to the present, Harry waving a hand in front of the older boy's unfocused gaze. "Louis? Still with us?" he asks, seemingly concerned.

"Oh, sorry, was just thinking about all the things I need to do this week." He motions to the calendar still clutched in Harry's other hand. "You should come to a few events. Meet people.” He gives the other man a saucy wink. “Anything catch your eye? Zayn has a discussion on queer people of colour later, it's going to be really interesting," he says suggestively.

Ever since that chat in the coffee shop a few days ago, Louis is convinced that Harry has set his sights on one Zayn Malik. The boyfriend questions, making sure he and Zayn aren't a couple... It all adds up. _Besides,_ Louis thinks to himself, _what better way to keep him off limits than to set him up with my best friend?_ He hopes at the very least it will keep Zayn from pining after Liam the Print Services Boy.

Something flickers behind Harry's smile but then he's nodding, curls bouncing with the motion. "Yeah, great, I'll be sure to check it out." He glances at the watch adorning his left wrist. "I've got to get to class, but I'll see you later, yeah?" he says, turning to leave.

"Wait!" Louis jumps up, grabbing a button and swiftly affixing it to the strap of Harry's backpack. It reads "Love is Equal" in black text on a white background.

Harry tilts his head curiously to read the button and then beams at Louis. "Thanks, Louis. Save me a seat at the discussion." With that, the taller man fades into the crowd.

Louis flops back down in his seat behind the table, pleased that he got Harry to agree to come to an event. He glances over to Skye to find the blonde staring at him, one eyebrow arched over her large brown eyes. "What?" he asks her, raising a brow of his own.

"What the hell was that all about?" she asks, nodding in the direction Harry had gone in.

"What do you mean?" Louis counters, a puzzled frown pulling down the corners of his lips.

Skye rolls her eyes. "I mean, who was the lost puppy with the heart eyes who just left?" Realisation dawns on her face. "Oh my god, that's the kid from the panel, isn't it? The one you've been meeting with?" She shakes her head, her long hair fanning around her as she moves. "Oh honey. That boy has it so bad for you. What have you two been talking about, anyway?"

"It's not like that!" Louis protests, crossing one arm over himself defensively. "I'm just helping the lad out. Besides, I think he has the hots for our Zayn."

Skye scoffs, shaking her head even more emphatically. "If you say so, Louis. That boy looked at you like you're made of solid gold.” Her eyes are soft as she lays a gentle hand on Louis’ arm. “Just promise me you'll let him down gently, all right?"

"Whatever you say, love," he says, wondering what has Skye so convinced of Harry's romantic interest.

♠♥♣♦

Zayn's discussion that afternoon, Sexuality and Skin Tone, is held in the LGBTQ Resource Centre. Around twenty students and faculty members are crammed into the seating area, filling the couch and reclining on bean bags or on the floor.

Louis ducks through the door after it has already started, late getting out of his last class of the day. He spots Harry sitting in one of the chairs pulled over from the study area, his backpack settled in the unoccupied seat next to him. He waves excitedly once he sees Louis, motioning for him to take the chair.

Louis sits down as quietly as possible, placing his messenger bag on the ground next to where Harry's now lays. "Thanks," he murmurs softly.

Harry smiles, leaning over to whisper in Louis' ear. "I thought you were supposed to save me a seat," he teases.

Louis pokes his tongue out at the fresher before turning all his attention to Zayn.

The discussion is thoughtful and honest, probably one of Louis' favourite Coming Out Week events ever. A lot of attention is paid to queer people of colour feeling forced to separate their identities.

"I have to put my race first with my black friends and my sexuality first with my queer friends,” one girl (Amira, Louis thinks she’s called) comments. “It feels like I'm not allowed to be both at the same time.”

Louis has never thought of it that way, feeling privileged that the different aspects of his life are never segmented because he happens to be white. He deals with his share of homophobia, sure, but he can't imagine racism being piled on top of that.

The conversation lasts a little over an hour before Zayn finally wraps it up. "Thanks so much for coming and for all your comments. This is a difficult subject, but the only way to understand it is to talk about it. We'll have more discussions on other topics throughout the week, so be sure to grab a calendar if you don't have one yet!" Zayn looks pleased, a lopsided smile gracing his face.

As the group disperses, some leaving and some forming into little clusters to continue the discussion, Louis bounds across the room to wrap his arms around Zayn's waist and press a kiss into his scruffy cheek. "That was so great, Zaynie!" he exclaims, burrowing his face into Zayn's neck.

Zayn laughs, giving Louis a squeeze before pulling away. "Thanks for coming, mate. I saw you brought a friend?" He glances over Louis' shoulder.

Louis turns to see that Harry has followed him, his backpack slung over one arm and Louis' forgotten bag on the other. Louis gratefully reaches out for the bag and places a hand on the small of Harry's back, drawing him a little closer to Zayn. "Ah, yes, of course. Zayn, I'd like you to meet Harry Styles. Harry, this is my best friend, Zayn Malik."

Harry reaches out a broad hand and shakes Zayn's, dimple prominently displayed on the edge of his smile. "Pleasure, Zayn. Tonight was great. I really enjoyed you on the panel as well."

"I'm glad you came. I know it can be hard to come to events like these when it feels like everyone around you has themselves already figured out. I think I'm the only person on our entire staff who's still somewhat closeted, so I always feel like a bit of a bad example." Zayn shrugs as he moves to start pushing a chair toward the table it had been borrowed from.

Harry quickly grabs another chair to help Zayn tidy up the space, continuing their conversation as they do so. Feeling rather smug about playing matchmaker, Louis says a quick goodbye to the pair and slips out of the Centre before either of them can protest.

♠♥♣♦

When Zayn finally comes home later that evening, Louis is curled up in his usual armchair eating a frozen pizza he’s managed to only slightly burn. "Were you with Harry this whole time?" he asks, taking a bite of the not quite cooled pizza.

Zayn reaches over the back of the chair to snatch a slice from the plate, ignoring Louis' protests. "Yeah, he's a pretty cool guy. I can see why you're into him." He takes a large bite out of the cheese pizza and sits down heavily on the couch, kicking up his feet on the coffee table.

Louis chokes on the mouthful of food he had been attempting to swallow. "Excuse me?” he demands, once the danger has passed. “I am not into Harry. Yeah, he's fit, I can't argue that. But we're just talking." Louis drops a leftover crust to his plate and picks up another piece. "Besides, I'm pretty sure he's into you."

Zayn rolls his head to give Louis a sideways glance, eyebrows halfway to his hairline. "What makes you think that?"

"Our last meeting. He kept asking about boyfriends. Wanted to make sure you and I didn't have a history. That sort of thing." Louis glances up from his plate to wiggle his brows at Zayn. "Besides, did you see how focused he was in your discussion today? I think you've got quite the fan."

Zayn rakes a hand through his messy black hair, chuckling. "Oh, Louis, you're so oblivious sometimes." At Louis' suddenly narrowed eyes, he continues: "Mate, every time I looked over at Harry tonight, he was looking straight at you."

Louis blinks at that, cocking his head as he tries to remember their time during the discussion. He can't recall ever actually looking over to Harry, trying to focus on whoever had been speaking instead. Surely he would have noticed if Harry had been watching him. Wouldn't he?

Zayn is shaking his head, eyes closed as he chuckles softly. "You know what we mostly talked about for the last couple of hours?” Louis doesn’t. “You. I hate to break it to you, but he wasn't asking about boyfriends with me in mind."

Louis' text notification sounds then, and when he goes to unlock his phone screen he realises his palms are sweating.

"I will do all the dishes for the rest of the term if that message isn't from Harry," Zayn says, giving Louis a knowing smirk.

Louis swallows, silently willing it to be his mum or one of his sisters or Nick. His stomach clenches once he pulls up the notification. Of course it’s Harry. He taps on the screen, opening up the message.

_I had sooo much fun tonight! Zayn is a great guy! Wish you could have stayed longer .x_

Louis sighs and turns the mobile around so Zayn can read the text.

Zayn flicks his eyes across the screen, then back up at Louis. "What are you going to do?"

Louis makes a frustrated noise low in his throat. "Fuck. I don't know. This wasn't supposed to get complicated." He sticks his bottom lip out in a pout. "You sure you aren't interested?"

Zayn stands, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and heading over to the sliding glass door leading to their small balcony. He pauses, hand resting on the door handle. "You know who I'm interested in. Nice try, though. Just let him down easy, yeah?" And with that he slips outside for a smoke.

"Why does everyone keep saying that to me?" Louis mutters. He tosses his plate aside, pulling his legs up underneath him and glaring at the phone still clutched in his hand. Puffing out his lips as he exhales, Louis taps out a reply to Harry.

_Yeah sorry, had stuff to do. Glad you had fun. You should def come to more events._

That seems like a safe text. No smiley faces, no kisses, no exclamation points. He presses send and waits.

_I'll be there!!! :D G'night Lou! XxXx_

He can't help but grin at the nickname, scrunching up his nose. Okay, he can admit he's grown fond of Harry even in the couple weeks they've known each other. Harry's texts are bright spots in his day, and he looks forward to their coffee sessions all week. That was it, though. That's all it could be. Of course Harry would feel drawn to the first man who took the time to get to know him in the context of his sexuality, especially someone kind and available, not to mention quite attractive (so he's been told). He won't allow himself to take advantage of a boy just finding himself and clinging to anything he can.

Even if, just maybe, he wonders what things might be like if he did.

♠♥♣♦

After that first day of Coming Out Week, Louis feels like Harry is everywhere he looks. He shows up to the Dinner and a Movie event Tuesday night, where they sit around eating pizza and watching _To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar._ He’s at the second discussion group, Gender as Performance, on Wednesday.

Now here it is, Thursday afternoon, and Harry has just shown up to the tie dye party to make apparel for the Coming Out Day photo the next day.

Louis is sprawled out on the pavement outside of the student union, hands covered in dye from the shirt he’s working on. His gaze travels up Harry's body, from his Converse clad feet up to the sunglasses shielding the other boy's eyes from view.

"You sick of me yet?" Harry asks, taking off the glasses and hooking them into the collar of his t-shirt.

Louis sets down the bottle of orange dye he had been using. The shirt he's working on is coiled into a tight spiral, the parts still white standing out in stark contrast to the places Louis has applied the dye. He smiles up at Harry, squinting in the sunlight. "Not in a million years, Curly."

Harry's returned smile is so bright Louis wishes he had sunglasses. The beaming boy turns, gesturing to someone standing next to him Louis hadn't noticed before. "This is my flatmate, Niall. I convinced him to come along with me."

Harry's flatmate is pale and solid, his blond hair darkening to brown at the roots. He pushes his sunglasses up on his forehead to reveal cerulean blue eyes. "You must be Louis, I've heard so much about you," Niall says, voice lilting in an Irish accent. He enthusiastically claps Harry on the back. "This one never stops talking about ya."

The look Harry shoots Niall is positively lethal, but the blond pays him no mind.

Laughing at the exchange, Louis climbs to his feet, dusting off the legs of his jeans as he stands. "Well, I'm glad you guys could make it." He gestures to a table set up closer to the building, surrounded by students and staff members. "There are shirts and bandanas on that table over there. Grab something and I'll show you what to do."

Harry sticks out his bottom lip at Niall. "Will you get one for me, Nialler? My feet hurt," he whines.

Niall laughs jovially, rolling his eyes. "You lazy arse. Fine. But you owe me a pint later." And with that Niall strides off to acquire a couple of shirts.

Once they're alone, Louis turns to Harry, crossing his arms over the flat planes of his chest. "So," he says, breaking the silence between them, "you talk about me a lot, do you?" He raises a teasing brow.

“No!” Harry squeaks, hurriedly shaking his head. "I mean, yes, well. I do talk about you a lot. But it's because I've been telling him the things we discuss and Coming Out Week and all that." He shrugs his shoulders, eyes pointedly avoiding Louis’.

Louis laughs, reaching out to squeeze Harry's shoulders. He feels some of the tension ease with the pressure of his fingertips. "I'm just teasing. I'm glad you're able to talk to him about it. He knows then?" Louis has never voiced his concerns, hasn't wanted to worry Harry, but he’s been secretly terrified that Harry's flatmates would end up being unaccepting of homosexuality.

Harry's eyes settle on Niall across the lot, the shirts slung over his shoulder as he loads a plate with snacks provided by the Resource Centre. His face softens as he watches the energetic Irishman. "He does, yeah. He's the first person besides you I've told that I'm gay." A little shudder runs through Harry's body, his smile growing even larger.

Louis tilts his head, letting Harry's words sink in. That’s the first time he's ever heard Harry affirm his sexuality out loud, and the look on Harry's face is one of exhilaration. Louis remembers that feeling, remembers finding himself and being able to put a name to his identity. He's suddenly overwhelmed with pride, feeling lucky that he’s able to be involved in Harry's self discovery. He briefly considers pulling the other man in for a hug, but then Niall's back and there's tie dyeing to be done.

Harry stays long after their shirts have been taken away to be treated and rinsed, signing their names on the tags so that they'll end up with their own masterpieces at the photo the next day. He helps Louis gather up the various bottles of dye and wad up saturated newspaper mats, Niall supervising and making sure none of the snacks go to waste.

It's nearing dinner time once the space has been cleared, Kyle and Nick packing the supplies back up to the Resource Centre.

"That was loads of fun. Glad you brought me," Niall says, picking at the green-tinted skin of his fingers. His shirt had been done in the colours of the Irish flag, the evidence clear on his stained hands.

Harry looks between his flatmate and Louis, quite pleased with himself. "It's Louis' doing. I never would have come to any of these things if it weren't for him."

Reaching out to ruffle Harry's curls, Louis winks at Niall. "It's how we gays get new recruits, you know. You're next, Irish."

Niall lets out a staccato burst of laughter, actually clutching at his stomach as he guffaws. "Oh, Harry, I like him. We can keep him," Niall croons. Louis exchanges a glance with Harry, finding himself laughing along with Niall's contagious outburst.

Once the laughter dies down, there's a bit of an awkward lull in the conversation where no one wants to be the first to leave. Niall—charming, delightful Niall—is the first to speak.

"Man, I'm starving," he moans as if he hasn't just polished off enough junk food to feed a small army. He loops an arm through Harry's, tugging the other boy forward. "C'mon, let's get takeaway and go home."

Harry nods in agreement. He pulls Niall to a halt and pivots them around so they're facing Louis. "Thanks again for today. For everything, really," Harry amends thoughtfully. "It's been great."

Louis opens his mouth to say something appropriately polite but Niall's voice cuts him off.

"What are you saying goodbye for? Louis' coming with us. Aren't you Louis?" Niall asks, not bothering to wait for his reply before tugging Harry forward again. Harry's eyes are wide and searching, waiting for Louis to respond.

Amused by the assertiveness of Harry's flatmate, Louis finds himself nodding. "Yeah, sure, sounds fun. I can finally see which shit hole of a hall you two are stuck in."

And just like that, he's on his way to hang out with Harry Styles for the first time as a friend instead of a mentor.

The evening air is cool but not too uncomfortable for the trek across campus. Louis closes his eyes as he trots along next to the freshers, inhaling the crisp air and the scent of autumn. The walk is mostly silent aside from the chatter of groups of students they pass and the first fallen leaves of the season crunching underfoot. Louis notices Harry go out of his way to tread on a few particularly crunchy ones.

They grab takeaway from the Chinese place just down the block from Harry and Niall's residence hall. The hall itself is not far from the one he had lived in his first year, though it seems to be slightly nicer. Niall leads the way up the stairs to the second level to their flat, juggling his bag of food as he unlocks the door.

Niall flips on the light switch as the trio pile into the space. It's snug in the way that student flats usually are, with beige walls and plain particle board furnishings. There’s a small kitchenette tucked away in one corner of the room, a table and chairs separating it from the lounge. Five doors lead off of the main room, one cracked open enough that Louis can see it’s a bathroom.

The flat is actually fairly tidy for being inhabited by four teenage boys. Louis recalls his own first year accommodations, clutter lining every surface and clothes spilling out of bedrooms. Here, the living area is remarkably clear of personal items, and the only dish in the sink is an empty glass.

"Home sweet home!" Niall calls, flopping down into a chair at the table and digging into the bag of food.

Harry takes the seat opposite Niall, leaving Louis to settle down in the spot adjacent to both of them. His back is to the kitchen, surveying the rest of the flat as he eats. "Which rooms are yours?" Louis asks before lifting a bite of lo mein to his mouth with a practiced dip of his chopsticks.

Harry watches Louis' chopstick technique with something akin to awe. "The one on the left is mine. Niall’s is nearest the kitchen," he explains, trying to get the pair of sticks to cooperate in his large hand. He fumbles them, spilling fried rice into his lap.

Laughing, Louis pushes his food back on the table and scoots his chair closer to Harry’s. "Here, let me show you." He takes Harry's hand in his, using the other to carefully position the wooden utensils in the younger man's grasp. "There. You hold the bottom one still, like a pencil, and just move the top one. Give it a go."

Looking dubiously at the arrangement of the sticks in his hand, he tries and fails to pick up some broccoli from his entree. It takes a few more attempts, but he does manage to pick a piece up and get it to his mouth without dropping it.

Louis and Harry both cheer. Niall, meanwhile, is merely using a single chopstick to spear bits of his chicken. "I don't have the patience for that," he explains with a shrug, popping a chunk of meat into his mouth.

Laughing at Niall's candor, Louis returns his seat to its usual position, though maybe just a touch closer to Harry than Niall. He munches on an egg roll, unable to keep his eyes from wandering over to Harry.

There is a look of intense concentration on the brunet's face as he keeps practicing with his chopsticks. When he manages to get a strip of beef from the takeaway box to his mouth with only a little difficulty, he glances around beaming to see if anyone witnessed the feat. When his eyes meet Louis', the older man's stomach does a little flip. When did he start feeling so fond of this ridiculous boy?

Louis excuses himself to the toilet, more out of curiosity than actual need. The room is fairly simple, a vanity with double sinks in front of a mirror on one wall, a shower in one stall and a toilet in another on the opposite side. The room is stark white, almost clinical, the only spots of colour the assortment of towels slung over the shower door.

While he's washing his hands, Louis eyes the various toiletries on the cluttered countertop. It's more obvious that four teenage boys share this bathroom, he thinks, rolling his eyes at what has to be the full line of Axe products clustered around the sink. He assumes they must belong to the other two flatmates, Harry’s scent more natural and clean and Niall certainly not smelling like ‘Dark Temptation.’

He shuts the lights off behind him as he leaves the bathroom. At the table, Niall has polished off his meal and is leaning his chair back on two legs, texting. Harry's still eating, progress slowed by his insistence on using the chopsticks. He's gotten much better, Louis thinks, watching his slender fingers carefully manipulating the utensils.

"So what are your other flatmates like?" Louis asked, curling back into chair with his feet tucked underneath him.

Niall lowers the hand holding his mobile to his chest. "They're all right. Just a couple of lads. We don't really see much of them."

Harry nods from across the table, closing up the white takeaway container and setting it and the chopsticks aside. "We only see them if we happen to be getting ready at the same time or one of them forgets their key and has to knock. I don't think we have that much in common, to be honest." He stands, one hand rubbing over his full stomach as he stretches, and puts away the remainder of his meal in the refrigerator.

Louis looks between the pair of first years, running his hands down the tops of his jean-clad legs. "Well, lads, what do we do now?"

Letting all four legs of his chair return to the floor, Niall straightens, still engrossed in his phone. "Some of my mates are going out to the pubs for a few pints. Do you guys want to join?" He's already crossing to the door and stuffing his feet back into his trainers.

Harry and Louis share a look. Louis raises his brows and lifts his shoulders slightly, hoping to let Harry know that it's up to him.

He seems to get the memo.

"Er, I think I'll stay in if you don't mind, Nialler. I had an early class today and I'm pretty drained." He nods to Louis. "I won't be offended if you'd like to go, though."

"I think I'll pass too, actually. Next time though, for sure," Louis says earnestly. He can just imagine going drinking with the harnessed energy of a man that is Niall Horan.

Niall's grin doesn't falter for a second. He claps a firm hand down on Louis' shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Yeah, definitely. It was great meeting you. Harry, I'm sorry in advance for whatever time it'll be when I drag myself home." With that the blond grabs his jacket from where he'd tossed it on the sofa and heads out the door.

"Be careful!" Harry calls after him, eyes sparkling with amusement.

And then it's just Louis and Harry, alone in the suddenly quiet flat, the absence of Niall’s personality almost palpable. Harry's eyes are on the ground, his hands tugging at the hem of his shirt. "D'you want to watch a movie or something?" he murmurs, voice low and soft.

Louis thinks for a moment. His first class on Fridays is at 9, but it’s still early yet. Besides, he can always take a nap after the Coming Out photo. "Yeah, all right," he agrees, and Harry's head snaps up, meeting Louis' gaze with an impossibly large grin spreading on his face.

"Great!" he cries excitedly, his cheeks pinking. Taking a breath, he repeats the word in a calmer tone. "Great. C’mon, I’ll show you my room.”

Harry leads the way through one of the closed doors. The room is sparsely decorated, save for a number of band and football posters dotting the walls. Like the rest of the flat, Harry's room is actually quite tidy, leading Louis to believe the boy in front of him is the one responsible for keeping things neat. The small desk against the wall is uncluttered and all of his laundry seems to have made it into a hamper. Even the bed is made, navy comforter hanging just high enough off the floor to reveal the collection of shoes lined up underneath the edge of the frame.

“The DVDs are over there,” Harry says, gesturing to rack against the wall. “I've seen them all so pick out anything you’d like.”

Pleased that Harry seems genuinely excited to be spending time together, Louis saunters over to the dresser Harry had pointed to. On top is a flat screen television and a PlayStation 3, coils of cords linking the two. Next to the dresser stands a DVD tower containing Harry’s impressive collection of movies. Louis bends to examine the titles, dragging a tapered finger down the row of cases as he hums to himself under his breath. He pauses on Love, Actually, plucking the DVD from the shelf. "Are you totally going to judge me if I pick this one?" Louis asks, clutching it in both hands as he spins to face Harry.

Harry laughs, pulling the movie from Louis' grasp. "Not at all. It's one of my favourites." He steps to the dresser to get everything set up. "Make yourself comfortable."

Louis weighs his options as he glances around the room. He could curl up on the floor, but it wouldn't be terribly comfortable to crane his neck up to see the television. There's the wooden chair tucked neatly underneath the desk, but his ass had gone to sleep while he was eating dinner so sitting in another hard chair for the length of a film doesn’t sound the least bit appealing. Alas, the chair is the safest bet, he decides. He’ll be safely removed from Harry Styles, not tempting fate by occupying the same bed as the boy harbouring a supposed crush on him. Yet still he finds himself climbing into the single bed, sat across the mattress with his back leaned against the cool surface of the wall.

Once the game console and TV are switched on and the title screen of the DVD is playing, Harry grabs one of the cordless remotes and pads over to the door, switching off the lights before climbing onto the bed next to Louis. He fluffs a pillow up and lodges it behind his back, offering one to Louis as well.

They watch the movie mostly in silence, though neither boy can help singing along at times. Harry’s imitation of Bill Nighy’s character has Louis in stitches. He finds himself hyper aware of exactly how many centimetres of mattress separate their bodies, the distance seeming less every time one of them shifts. Cautiously, Louis peeks over at Harry from time to time, taking in the sharp lines of the man's profile accentuated by the flickering glow from the television. He keeps sneaking glances, only daring to let his eyes linger for a few seconds at a time.

The last time he chances a look, he's startled to find Harry staring right back at him, eyes wide and shining in the darkened room. Louis blinks in surprise, face hot at being caught. He's glad the ambient light of the screen isn't bright enough to allow Harry to see the redness of his cheeks and ears.

"You keep looking at me," Harry says quietly, his low rasp raising goosebumps on Louis' tanned arms.

Louis crosses his arms, rubbing his palms over the skin to chase away the gooseflesh. "I just wanted to see how you were enjoying the movie," Louis replies lamely, his eyes now glued to the screen even though he can feel Harry's penetrating stare still fixed upon him.

They're silent for moment, Louis looking straight ahead with determination, the pounding of his heart filling his ears.

"Lou," Harry nearly whispers, the tone of his voice so gentle that Louis has to turn his head to face the other man, to see the expression that matches.

Harry's lips are on his without warning, thick and plush and slightly chapped. Louis feels his entire body tense up in shock. As nice as Harry’s mouth is, as much as he finds himself wanting to give in and allow Harry to snog him senseless, something in the back of his mind reminds him why he shouldn’t. Reluctantly, he unfolds his arms and grabs Harry by the shoulders, gently pushing the younger boy away.

Harry's face immediately falls, twisting in a mix of confusion and hurt and terror, and then he's jerking out of Louis' grasp and off the bed.

"Harry—" Louis tries, voice coming out strained and thin.

Harry cuts him off. "Don't. I'm so sorry. Fuck." He buries a hand in his hair, pulling at it in frustration. "I am so sorry, Louis." He covers his face with both hands, slowly lowering himself to sit on the edge of his desk.

Louis' jaw is slack, lips still tingling from the brief contact with Harry's. He wets them absently, unsure of what to say to the imploding man sitting across the room. The movie still plays in the background so Louis grabs the remote from the bed and pauses it, only the sound of his heartbeat thudding in the sudden quiet. He stretches an arm out and clicks on the lamp sitting on Harry's desk, bathing the room in a soft yellow glow and—Holy shit, Harry just kissed me.

The other man hasn't moved, face still buried in his large hands. Louis leans back against the wall, knees bent and hands resting on his thighs, trying to think of the best way to diffuse the situation. His mind is a blur of he kissed me he kissed me he actually fucking kissed me and Louis can't decide if he’s elated or afraid. Both, definitely both.

Taking a deep, calming breath, he looks between the peaks of his knees at the hunched form of Harry slumped against the desk. His shoulders are trembling, one leg jiggling nervously up and down. "Harry, look at me," Louis tries again, his voice soft and coaxing.

There's a beat of motionless silence where Harry's body stills, then his hands slowly fall away from his blanched face. He crosses his arms over his chest, digging his nails into the flesh of the opposite arms. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Louis exhales, lips pursed. "Are you sorry for trying to kiss me, or for wanting to?"

Harry's eyes are wide, fingernails cutting white little crescents into his skin. "For trying, I guess. I should have asked." His voice comes out quicker than normal, the words he usually navigates with a meandering grace tripping him up at the hurried tempo. He bites at his bottom lip furiously, the same one that moments ago had been so tenderly pressed against Louis' own...

Focus, Louis.

"I'm not mad, Harry. I just don't think this is a good idea." He's hit with a pang of sorrow when Harry visibly flinches, looking as if he's about to cry. "I like you a lot. You're fun and cute and a really great guy, but you also have a lot of figuring out to do. I don't want to confuse you even more."

Harry mumbles something under his breath, eyes trained on his lap. 

"What was that?" Louis prods. 

"I said I think it's pretty obvious I've figured it out. I'm gay. I'm gay and I wanted to kiss a boy and I wanted that boy to be you." Harry looks up then, eyes meeting Louis' almost defiantly. "I like you. I'm not confused about how I feel." 

Louis leans forward, placing his feet on the floor and resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to invalidate the way you're feeling.” He sighs, takes a moment to choose his next words delicately. “But Harry, you've known that you’re gay for a couple of weeks. I'm the only gay man you've spent any length of time with since then. Don't you want to see what's out there? You can't do that if you're focused on me."

"Just because I'm new to dating boys doesn't mean I'm new to relationships, Louis!" Harry nearly shouts, frustration clinging to every word. "I don't want to 'see what's out there.' I wanted to give it a shot with you, and if that's not something you want then just tell me so I can pick myself up and move on." 

Louis groans, falling over on the bed and rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. "This was not supposed to happen. You were not supposed to get a fucking crush on me." He tilts his head, eyes finding Harry's. "I was trying to set you up with Zayn." 

Harry blinks rapidly. "What? Zayn?" He chuckles, running a hand through his hair. "Why did you want to do that? I mean, Zayn's great, but. Like, he's not you." 

"I wanted you to be off limits," Louis murmurs, eyes drifting closed. The upside down view makes him dizzy. "I didn't want to take advantage of you, and I thought if you were interested in someone else I wouldn't be tempted." Shit. Why had he thought that was a good idea? It sounds so stupid now that he's said it out loud. Of course, the mere idea of seeing Harry with Zayn is sending currents of jealousy through his veins, so he's relieved that his plan has backfired.

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard." Harry slides off the desk to sit on the floor, and when Louis hangs his head off the edge of the mattress their eyes are level. "But it also means that you do like me," Harry muses.

They stare at each other, the tension in the room thick and heavy. There’s no denying it now.

"Yeah," Louis says eventually, voice cracking on the word. "Yeah, Harry, I like you." 

Harry's entire face changes, the furrows in his forehead relaxing and his eyes softening. He swallows hard, licking his bitten lips. "So can I kiss you?"

 _Ohh this is such a bad idea shit shit shit_ but Louis wants it too, can't believe he had the self control to push Harry off the first time. "Okay," he whispers. 

In a smooth motion, Harry's uncoiling his long, lean body and crawling across the tile floor to Louis. Kneeling beside the bed, Harry dips his head down to hover just over Louis, who’s still hanging off the edge of the mattress. He pauses there for a second, eyeing Louis' parted lips hungrily, before craning his neck to press their mouths together. Louis lets his eyes flutter closed, the breath he didn't realise he'd been holding coming out through his nose in a pleased exhale. Harry's lips are warm and dry and bigger than his own, moving against Louis' cautiously as if he's afraid of spooking the older man again. When Louis feels a tentative lick from Harry's tongue, he opens his mouth without question and allows Harry to deepen the kiss, reaching an arm over his head to cup the back of Harry's neck.

Louis is left breathless and electrified when Harry eventually pulls away, pressing a couple pecks to Louis' slick mouth as he retreats. He sits back on on his heels, eyes glassy and a small smile playing on lips an even darker shade of pink than usual.

Louis returns the smile, breaking their eye contact in order to slowly pull himself upright, a bit woozy from hanging his head off the bed. Once he mostly recovers (from the head rush and their snog), he scoots back up against the wall, motioning for Harry to join him. "Well, young Harry," he asks as Harry settles in next to him, still panting, "how was your first big gay kiss? Everything you imagined it'd be?"

Harry laughs, low and throaty, and reaches up to drift his fingertips across his lips. "It was really good. Great. Just a little more—" he motions along the sides of his face—"stubble than I'm used to. But I liked it." He glances down, suddenly sheepish. "You're a really good kisser, Louis." His smile takes on a downward tilt as he picks at a thread on the duvet. "What does this mean, though?"

It’s been a long time since Louis has had this talk with anyone, a long time since he's considered anything past the pretense of ‘I'll call you’ the morning after. He doesn't want to be anyone's gay experiment, but that kiss... It didn't feel like it would be that way with Harry. "What do you want it to mean?" Louis asks, careful to keep his voice even. More than anything, he isn’t sure he’s good enough to be anything more to Harry.

Harry sucks in his bottom lip, thinking. "I want to keep kissing you," he decides.

Louis smiles, reaching out to tousle Harry's mussed curls. "I think I'd very much like for you to keep kissing me. Let's just not rush into anything, okay? Keep it casual, see where it goes." He places a hand on either side of Harry's face, meeting his eyes with a serious expression. "If you decide at any time that this isn't what you want, or if you want to explore your options, you just have to say the word."

Harry's eyes are wide as they stare into Louis', and he gives a little nod of understanding. Louis opens his arms then, inviting Harry into them. The brunet curls into the embrace, nuzzling his face against Louis' neck. "Thank you," he whispers into the skin below Louis' ear.

Careful not to dislodge the boy next to him, Louis turns the lamp back off and starts the movie playing again. They finish the rest of the film with their bodies entwined, and when they're kissing again by the end credits and don't part until the title screen music repeats for the fourth time, well. Louis can't say he minds.

♠♥♣♦

 

Some time later, a knock sounds at the entrance to the flat, muffled through the closed door to Harry’s room. The two boys fly apart instantly, hastily wiping mouths and tugging shirts back into place. Harry checks the time on his phone with a frown. "It's too early for that to be Niall, but it's still nearly midnight."

Midnight. Shit. He’s been in Harry's bed for hours, lazily making out and cuddling and chatting. Louis honestly can't remember the last time he'd spent this much time in another man's bed without it leading further. But he means what he said, he wants to take this slow. He’s certain Harry will tire of him soon enough, once he meets some other boys and realises that there are plenty of gay fish in the sea.

Harry lowers himself off the bed, wincing as his bare feet touch the cool tiled floor, and trudges out to see who’s at the door. Meanwhile, Louis slips to edge of the mattress and runs a hand through his messy hair, trying to make it look a little less obvious that the pair had been caught mid snog.

"Oh," Harry says as he looks through the peephole of the main door, undoing the lock and pulling the door open. From his perch on Harry’s bed, Louis can just make out two figures standing in the open doorway.

"Hey, sorry, we both forgot our keys," one voice, deep and lazy, explains.

"No problem," Harry says, stepping aside to let the pair in. “I was still up, anyhow.”

Curiosity getting the better of him, Louis stands and takes a few steps closer to the trio. He’s not a gambling man, but he’s willing to bet that the two newcomers are Harry and Niall’s other flatmates.   

"Thanks." The one who had spoken has short, spiked black hair and is wearing a t-shirt. He snaps his eyes to Louis, looking him up and down, gaze catching for a moment on the cluster of rainbow buttons Louis realises are still pinned to his shirt. "Sorry, didn't know you had company." Is there a sour note in his voice, or is Louis just on edge?

Harry beams, resting a large hand on Louis' shoulder. "Sorry, rude of me. This is Louis, he's a third year here." Harry sweeps his other hand at the two men still hovering just inside the doorway. "This is Derek," he points to the one with black hair, "and Thad, my flatmates." The second man, Thad, has dirty blond hair covered by a backwards snapback, muscled arms crossed over a broad chest. Louis recognises him as one of the first year additions to the rugby club.

"Nice to meet you, lads," Louis says, turning up the charm.

Thad responds with a quick nod and Derek mumbles out a "same," upper lip curled slightly.

Louis shifts his weight uncomfortably, suddenly quite aware that he's been standing with one hip popped out somewhat flamboyantly.

Harry steps out of the way to allow his flatmates passage, the pair thanking Harry as they duck into their respective rooms and shut the doors behind them. When they’re alone once more, Louis raises a speculative eyebrow at Harry.

"What?" Harry asks, confused by the expression. He grabs Louis' hand, leading them back to his room and the once neatly-made bed.

Louis sinks down onto the mattress next to Harry, their knees knocking together. "I just got a bad feeling from them, is all. Did you see the way that kid looked at me?" He shakes his head before turning wide, worried blue eyes on Harry. "Just be careful around them, yeah?"

One side of Harry's face lifts in a small smile. "They're just typical lads, Lou. Don't worry too much, all right? I'm not going to go stick my head in their rooms and inform them that I think I might enjoying shagging men from now on. It's like I told you, the most we even interact with them is when they get locked out or we meet in the bathroom."

"All right, then," Louis replies, not entirely convinced. He fits his slender hand into Harry's larger one, resting their clasped hands on his denim-covered thigh. "It's late,” he says reluctantly. “I should probably get going so I'm not useless tomorrow."

Harry pouts, literally pouts at Louis, sticking his bottom lip out with a sad little hum. Louis laughs, unable to help himself as he leans in and gives the protruding lip the smallest nibble followed by a kiss.

"Okayyy," Harry says sullenly when they part. His smile is soft, looking at Louis with something akin to wonder, like he can't fathom they've just spent hours exchanging kisses.

Louis runs a hand along Harry's face, caressing the cut of his jaw. "I'll see you tomorrow. Coming Out Day photo, yeah? You ready to show up in rainbow?"

Harry blinks bashfully, pink lips twisting to one side. The word ‘pretty’ dances through Louis' mind. "I'm a bit nervous, if I'm honest. But yeah, I'll be there." His smile returns, a little more strength behind it.

They reluctantly haul themselves off the bed, Louis quickly slipping his TOMS onto his bare feet and grabbing his bag. Harry watches wordlessly, trailing Louis like a lost child when the older man heads for the door.

"Text me, okay?" Louis says softly, raising on his toes to press one more tender kiss to Harry's lips. They haven't kissed standing up yet, and he finds himself surprised at how Harry has to bend slightly to slot their mouths together.

"Of course," Harry replies, absolutely pleased as he opens up the door to let Louis out. "G'night, Lou."

Louis still gets a little fluttery at the nickname, loving the familiarity of it, and wondering how Harry Styles has managed to turn him into a fumbling teenager again in one night of kissing. All right, so it was excellent kissing, but that's beside the point."Good night, Harry," Louis replies, slipping out the open door and down the hallway with a bounce in his step. He doesn't even make it out of the building before he has a new text message from Harry, and Louis thinks it might be signed with enough x's for every kiss they shared tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying it so far! You can find the rebloggable post on tumblr [here](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com/post/115487576986/both-showing-hearts-by-kiwikero-icanhazzalou). You can also check out my "bsh" tag for asks/inspiration pics/ramblings about this story.
> 
> See you next Sunday!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunday already!! Thanks as always to Sarah for beta-ing, and to Vikki and Hannah for explaining to me what a vest is in British English. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Duct tape is used as a method of making fake cleavage in this chapter. I'm not implying that it's the best or safest way to do so, but it is commonly done so that's what I went with. Please be careful with your skin. <3
> 
> Anyway, this is one of my favorite chapters, so enjoy!!
> 
> Songs for this chapter: "Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop" by Landon Pigg and "Brighter Than Sunshine" by Aqualung
> 
> I've started a spotify playlist for this fic [here.](https://play.spotify.com/user/12159569080/playlist/3sb6QE1bNKN5z3n8pLc6G7)

The quad the next morning is veritably draped in rainbow, every building and lamp post festooned with ribbons and streamers and balloons. The crowd gathering on the lawn is similarly adorned. Louis sees outfits ranging from yesterday’s tie-dyed t-shirts to, much to Louis’ disdain, someone in a rainbow unitard and clown wig.

Louis has his hair impeccably styled for the occasion, fringe arranged in loose twists at the crown of his head. He rushes over to the staff table set up at the side of the lawn, slinging an arm around Zayn's neck as he arrives. "Happy Coming Out Day, Zayn!" he hollers, pinching as much skin as he can manage on Zayn's chiseled face.

Zayn bats Louis' hand away, turning to the table to rifle through the colourful stack of shirts piled on top. He extracts Louis' shirt from the heap, tossing it to him. "Get dressed, you wanker," Zayn says fondly. Once Louis has pulled the tie dye shirt over the top of his henley, he digs through the clothing on the table until he comes away with Harry's and Niall's shirts.

Zayn quirks an eyebrow. "Has your collection of impressionable freshers grown, then?" He asks wryly.

Louis pouts, looking properly offended. "Harry is bringing his flatmate, I'll have you know," he sniffs haughtily.

Zayn is shaking his head with a chuckle, clearly loving the rise he's able to get out of his best friend. "All right, just don't try to set me up with this one too.” His laughter cuts off suddenly, face paling.

"Zayn? What's wrong?" Louis asks, reaching out his free hand to place it on Zayn's arm. Before  he can make contact, though, Zayn clutches at Louis' outstretched arm, pulling him to his side, fingers digging into the sleeve of his shirt.

"He's here," Zayn hisses, brown eyes wide.

Louis blinks slowly, curious as to what can be inspiring this kind of reaction in the usually cool man. "Who? Harry? I don't see—"

"No, _Liam,"_ Zayn's voice is high and strained. "Louis, what is _Liam goddamn Payne_ doing here?"

Unable to stop his mouth from falling open, Louis jerks himself free from Zayn's grasp and spins around. "Where, where?" he asks, bouncing up on the balls of his feet to search the crowd.

"Oh my god, be cool!" Zayn groans, fisting a hand in the back of Louis' shirt and yanking him down to stand flat-footed. He motions with his head toward the edge of the lawn, a lone, monochromatic figure looking lost amongst the sea of rainbow.

Rubbing his hands together gleefully, Louis once again wrenches out of Zayn's grasp and strides purposefully toward Liam, leaving his flatmate gaping helplessly after him. He stops just in front of Liam, clearing his throat to get the other man's attention.

Liam is taller than Louis, solid, with short cropped brown hair and large, soulful brown eyes. His soft face is ringed by a scruff of facial hair, dusting his cheeks and neck, a birthmark situated just under his Adam's apple. He regards Louis curiously, cocking his head to one side like an interested puppy.

"You look a little lost!" Louis chirps, positively thrilled at talking to Liam with Zayn watching only a few metres away. He sticks out a hand. "I'm Louis Tomlinson, LGBTQ Resource Centre staff. You work in the printing centre, right?"

Liam smiles, eyes making half moons as his face scrunches up. "Yeah, that's right. Liam Payne." He shakes Louis' hand, his grip warm and firm. "I had to print these calendars so many times the past few weeks that I ended up getting interested in some of the events." He waves a hand at their surroundings. "This is a bit mad, isn't it? I don't think I've ever seen so many rainbows in one place!"

He seems genuinely enthusiastic, and Louis has to wonder exactly how many times Zayn had made poor Liam print off the calendars. Ah, well. It had clearly worked in his favour.

Louis places a hand in the crook of Liam's arm. "I'm glad you decided to stop by! Let's get you something colourful to wear and I can introduce you to the rest of the staff." Without waiting for Liam to reply, Louis gleefully leads him back toward the staff table.

Zayn's eyes are wide as they approach, mouth open and head shaking from side to side in disbelief. Louis guides Liam to a stop directly in front of the panicked man.

"Zayn! So glad you're here," Louis crows, ignoring the glower on Zayn's face that seems to indicate he's plotting Louis' messy, untimely death. "Have you met Liam? Wonderful lad. Works in the print shop. He had to print all of our calendars! Funny that!" Louis doesn't even try to control the shit-eating grin engulfing his face.

Liam, dear, kind, innocent Liam, doesn't catch on to the strange actions of either man, instead jovially holding out his hand to Zayn. "We've never been properly introduced, but I know who you are," Liam explains shyly. "You come into the printing centre quite a bit."

Zayn's previously colourless face flushes as he wipes his palm off on the leg of his jeans before taking Liam's hand. "Yeah, likewise. Loads to print, and all that." The normally confident boy is stammering, unable to hold Liam's gaze for more than a second.

Louis slings the shirts in his hand over one arm and grips Zayn and Liam each by the shoulder. "All right, Liam, Zayn'll tell you everything you need to know. You're in very capable hands," he says, sauntering off giggling to himself. He casts one last look over his shoulder at a seething Zayn and a perplexed Liam before looking for Harry and Niall.

Niall spots him first. "Heyyy! Loueh!" he calls, his bright voice rising above the clamour of the crowd. He and Harry are leaning against the wall of the administrative building. Breaking into a jog, Louis quickly cuts through the milling students and joins the first years. He tosses Harry and Niall their shirts once he slows to a stop.

"Hey, this is pretty sick!" Niall shouts, dropping his backpack and pulling off his jacket to don the green and orange shirt, spirals of white licking through the pinwheels of colour.

Harry is less enthusiastic, though he seems pleased with the way his shirt turned out. Instead of doing a spiral design like Louis had or two spirals like Niall, he had chosen a striped pattern, the colors of the rainbow in order from the collar to the hemline.

"Aren't you going to put it on?" Louis asks, puzzled by Harry's hesitance.

Harry jumps like Louis had startled him, but nods as he pulls off his coat and the button down underneath, leaving him in a tight white t-shirt. He tugs the tie dye shirt over his mess of curls, pulling it into place and rolling up each sleeve a turn or two. He runs his hands over his biceps, arms crossed over his colourful torso.

"You okay?" Louis asks quietly, taking a step closer to Harry.

Harry drops his arms, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Yeah. This is just all new to me, you know? Being... obvious." he says, indicating his new attire.

Louis laughs, tugging on one of Harry's curls. "A rainbow does not a gay man make, Harry. I promise you there are plenty of straight allies here." He drops his hand from Harry's hair, dragging his fingers down Harry's arm in the barest of brushes that would be nearly imperceptible to anyone watching them.

Harry brightens, standing up straighter. "Yeah, 'course, you're right."

"So what's this for, exactly?" Niall asks, taking a selfie with his mobile, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

"Well, today is National Coming Out Day. It's a day to celebrate LGBTQIA people coming out of the closet. Every year, the Resource Centre organises a big group photo to celebrate, and it'll run in the campus paper next week." Harry looks frightened at that titbit, but Louis places a comforting hand on the younger man's toned arm. "Like I said, there are plenty of straight allies here. But if you aren't comfortable, you don't have to be in the picture."

Harry draws in a deep breath. "No," he says finally, the cadence of his speech even slower than normal, "I think I want to."

The screech of a megaphone cuts through the crowd, and Louis can see Nick standing up on a chair in the middle of the quad. "Hello, everyone!" Nick's voice is amplified by the device, and after a few moments the chatter amongst the masses dies down. "Welcome to the National Coming Out Day photo shoot! We're so grateful that each of you took time out of your schedule to join us and show your support. I'm going to ask my staff members to join me now, and we'll work on getting everybody organised."

Louis gives Harry's arm one more gentle squeeze. "That's my cue. Save me a spot, okay?" When Harry nods, Louis puckers his lips for the briefest of moments before heading over to join Nick and his coworkers.

It takes about fifteen minutes, but finally Kyle, Nick, Skye, Zayn, and Louis have the group in several rows that will fit into the frame of the photograph. The photographer, a journalism student, is standing on a step ladder with his camera at the ready.

"Jump in, then, let's get this over with!" Nick commands, leaving the megaphone with the photographer and slipping into a space in the group. Louis finds Niall and Harry in the very front row, squeezing in next to Harry, their bodies pressed close together in the packed space.

The front row is responsible for holding a rainbow flag, which Louis quickly unfolds, taking one corner in his right hand and passing the other across Harry to Niall. Now hidden behind the rainbow fabric, Louis feels Harry's hand slip into his empty left one. Louis turns his head to meet Harry's gaze, smiling fondly. Harry seems nervous but still manages to return Louis' grin.

"Everybody ready?" The photographer calls. "I'm going to take three pictures, I'll count to three each time. Here we go!" He positions himself behind his camera, left hand up in the air with his index finger raised. "1... 2... 3!" When his third finger shoots up, he takes the picture. "One more just like that!" After taking the second picture, he lowers the camera slightly. "All right, now let's do a fun one!"

Louis stands on his tiptoes to make himself closer to Harry's height, crossing his eyes and pressing his face close to Harry's. It's his standard silly picture pose, and he's done the same thing in the past two Coming Out Day photos. While the newspaper runs one of the posed copies, Nick will have prints made of the silly one to hand out to his staff members. The one from last year is currently sitting in a frame on the dresser in Louis' flat.

The photographer counts down again, and there's a sudden motion beside Louis. As the camera clicks, he realises that at the last moment Harry has turned to press a kiss to his cheek. Louis' head swivels on his neck, mouth a round little 'o' as he regards the blushing boy next to him.

"Sorry, sorry, I was feeling brave," Harry says, releasing Louis' hand. He turns away, a flush crawling down the creamy white skin of his neck.

Louis briefly imagines pressing a kiss to the pulse point just below his ear, finding out whether the pink tinged skin will feel hot under his lips, what kind of noises Harry will make if he bites down... _Not the time or place, Tommo,_ he reminds himself sternly.

"Harry, it's okay if you feel brave enough to kiss me in public. I don't mind,”  Louis says gently. “This is moving at your pace, remember?" The crowd around them is rapidly dispersing. Niall has wandered off somewhere, so Louis starts folding up the flag.

"It was just because it was a silly picture. I don't think I'm ready for PDA or anything." Harry's face is stormy, breaths coming out of his nose in forceful puffs.

"That's just fine. Casual, remember? We're just mates who happen to enjoy snogging each other." Louis says simply. He finishes folding the flag and drapes it over his arm. "It's Friday, d'you still want to have our weekly meeting? I understand if you don't need them anymore."

Harry picks his things up from the ground, sliding on his jacket and pulling the straps of his book bag over his arms. Glancing around, he slowly does up the buttons of the jacket until the rainbow shirt is safely concealed underneath. "No, I'd like that. Let me tell Niall where we're going. Meet you there in ten?"

Louis chews at the inside of his bottom lip as he watches Harry, fear and discomfort evident in the brunet's large green eyes. Maybe he can get him to open up about it later. "Sounds good, I need to help pack everything up anyhow."

With just an impersonal nod at Louis, Harry turns on his heel and sets off to find Niall among the remnants of the crowd, leaving Louis wondering what in bloody hell just happened.

♠♥♣♦

Louis beats Harry to their meeting place, their usual booth empty and waiting. He orders a tea for himself and Harry's beloved pumpkin latte, splashing some milk into his drink and taking a seat.

Harry pushes through the shop door a few minutes later, and Louis waves to get his attention. Harry's eyes settle on the second beverage already on the table, his cheek dimpling as he grins. He slides into the booth opposite Louis, wrapping his hand around the warm cup.

"You didn't have to get my coffee," he says, deeply inhaling the scent through the lid. Louis notices that he keeps his jacket on over the tie dyed shirt, buttons done practically all the way up to his chin. Weird.

Louis stirs his tea idly, watching the wisps of steam curling up from the milky surface. "Well, what do you reckon we should talk about today? Did you have fun at the photo?"

Harry's smile is present, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, it was great. I can't wait to see how it turns out." He's fidgety, his fingers drumming against the cup and his eyes darting around the shop like something is going to swoop down on him at any moment.

Louis sighs loudly, crossing his arms and leaning back against the ripped, padded back of the booth. "Do you want to tell me what is going on with you, then?"

Wide green eyes snap to his, nostrils flaring slightly. "Nothing's going on. I'm fine," Harry replies, flat and unconvincing.

"Harry." Louis’ voice softens as he reaches a hand under the table to still the other man's jiggling leg. Harry stops almost immediately. "C'mon, you can tell me. What the matter?"

Harry suddenly looks small, young and afraid as he slumps forward to rest his elbows on the table. "Today was just a bit of a shock, is all. Like, the picture was fun, and being in a big crowd of people who I can relate to, that was really cool. But... I kissed you. In public. Anyone walking by could have seen." He's chewing his lip so hard that Louis thinks he may draw blood. "And when I left, I was on campus, wearing a rainbow shirt. I felt like I had a target on my back, like everyone I passed could see the traces of you on my mouth and were judging me." Actual tears start to fill Harry's eyes, one spilling over and dripping onto the table. "It was so scary. How do you do that every day?"

Louis' heart clenches at the sight of Harry so vulnerable and terrified. He wants desperately to move to sit next to Harry, pull the weeping man into his arms and whisper reassuring words into his ear, but given the circumstances decides to keep his distance. "It's not always like that, Harry. You don't suddenly have a giant arrow hovering over your head to alert the bullies. You just have to keep your chin up and do the same things you did last week and the week before." He gives Harry's bony knee a little squeeze. "And if you don't want to wear rainbows, don't wear rainbows. There's no law saying you have to be out and proud just because you've figured out you're gay."

"But you are," Harry says softly, swiping at his eyes. The redness rimming them makes his irises an even more vibrant green.

"So? That doesn't mean you have to be. Zayn isn't."

Harry shakes his head in frustration, squeezing his eyes shut. "But I want to be with you. People are going to know about me before I'm ready for them to. I'll be gay by association.” He lets out a sad little huff. “It just sucks, is all."

Louis winces at that. "I'm sorry that my being out and involved is such a detriment to you. You don't have to hang out with me at all, you know." There's a sharp edge to his tone that must surprise Harry, because the other boy looks immediately chastised.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice small and higher than normal. "I didn't mean that. I'm happy that you're so comfortable with who you are. I just hate that we're at such different places in our lives.” He manages a lopsided smile. “Why couldn't I have met you when we could have gone through this together?"

Louis laughs, the tension slowly fading. "Oh, Styles, I don't think I was ever properly in the closet. If I was, it was pretty transparent. I was never exactly in the same position you're in, and that's okay." He shrugs. "Everyone goes about it a different way, and you don't have to come out if you aren't ready to. We'll just keep being friends and go from there."

"That's the problem, Lou. I don't think I want to just be friends." His lower lip, puffy from being bitten, trembles slightly.

Louis gnaws at his thumbnail, frustrated that he doesn't know what to say to make Harry feel better. He feels so useless in this moment. "I don't know what to tell you. You can't have it both ways, Harry. But that's why we're taking it slow, yeah?" He pastes on a smile, hoping to lighten the mood. "You've known for certain that you’re gay for less than a month. Give it some time." Feeling drained by the current topic of conversation, Louis decides to switch gears. "Are you coming to the amateur drag show tomorrow night?"

Harry blinks slowly, clearly experiencing conversational whiplash from Louis’ swift change in topic. "Erm. Maybe? Hadn't really thought about it."

Clutching his chest, Louis hangs his mouth open in fake shock. "Hadn't thought about it? Harry, this may be your only chance to see the one and only Zayn Malik in drag, and you haven't thought about it?"

Harry laughs, the sound especially welcome after the tears. "Still pushing for me and Zayn, eh?"

Louis scoffs, fluttering his hand in a dismissive wave. "No, absolutely not. You're mine now." Louis doesn't miss the way Harry flushes prettily at the possessive statement. "But if you think I'm going to let you miss the most beautiful man I've ever known dressed up in drag and dancing, you're sorely mistaken." He snatches Harry's mobile from the table, ignoring Harry's protests, and creates an event in his calendar. "There. The time and room number are there, and I've set an alarm so you won't forget."

One eyebrow quirked, Harry takes the proffered phone and taps at the screen, testing the alarm tone. "It's Raining Men" starts blasting from the speaker. "Heyyyy," Harry chides, laughing as he silences the sound. "You could have picked any old song, you know."

Louis gives Harry a knowing smirk. "Ah, but Harry," he teases, "you already had that one in your phone."

♠♥♣♦

Louis is running around backstage, a roll of duct tape in one hand and a microphone in the other. It’s only about thirty minutes to showtime, and he still needs to finish dressing, and then test the sound system.

The amateur drag show is being held in a large conference room in the student union. A portable stage and catwalk is already in place, the finishing touches being put on the lighting and decor. "Backstage" has been made by hanging fabric panels from the ceiling to give the performers privacy to change.

He finds Zayn seated in front of a mirror propped against the wall. Only halfway dressed, Zayn is leaning forward with his mouth agape as he applies false eyelashes over his own. "I found the duct tape," Louis says, plopping the roll down in Zayn's lap.

Zayn jumps, poking himself in the eye with the false lashes. "Ouch! Louis, if I just glued my eye shut, I will personally replace all the lube in the house with eyelash glue."

Well, then. "Quit being a baby," he tells the blinking man. "Hurry and get done with your face so I can help you with your tits."

Both men giggle at the mental image that conjures, Zayn turning back to the mirror and applying a sweep of mascara to each eye. Admiring his finished face, he purses his painted lips and blows his reflection a kiss. "What do you think? Not too bad?"

Louis laughs. Zayn has no idea how lovely he actually is. "You look great. I don't know why you don't do drag more often. You'd make a killing at the White Swallow."

Standing up, duct tape in hand, Zayn rolls his heavily-lined eyes. "You've seen me dance, Louis. I wouldn't be doing it tonight if Nick hadn't promised me dibs on the good shifts next term."

"That bastard! I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart!" Louis wails. He pauses for a moment. "Well, and because Nick said I get to pick our staff shirts for the spring." The two exchange a glance and burst into laughter again. Holding his sides, the microphone still clutched in one hand, Louis tries to catch his breath. "I think we've been had, Zayner. Now take off your shirt."

About five minutes to showtime, a familiar mess of curls pokes through the curtain leading backstage. The boy they are attached to peers around at the flurry of activity, various performers getting dressed or practising dance moves. His green eyes widen as he spots Louis and Zayn. Er, well, Louis and Veronica.

Zayn's drag persona has long, curled black hair and glasses. She is wearing a fitted pencil skirt and button down blouse, looking every bit the naughty secretary. When she spots Harry, she flutters her eyelashes, her lips twisting into the iconic 'duck face' popular with uni girls everywhere. "I don't think you're supposed to be back here, handsome."

Louis winces, chuckling. For as much as Zayn looks the part, Veronica's voice needs a little work. "I'm happy you're lip syncing tonight, mate. I don't know if we could handle Veronica's vocal debut." Dodging a swat from Zayn, Louis closes the distance between him and Harry. "I'm glad you made it," he says, smiling as he gives Harry a once over. The younger man is wearing sinfully tight jeans and a plain white t-shirt, a fitted black waistcoat hanging open over the top. “You look amazing.”

Harry glances away abashedly. "So do you. I like the, erm, sequins."

Louis isn't dressed in drag, instead wearing a black suit with pinstripes adorned in rainbow sequins, a sequined top hat completing the look.

"How did you give Zayn..." Harry trails off, cupping his hands in front of him to imitate breasts.

Louis scoffs. "Styles, do not tell me you've never seen a drag show before." His jaw drops when Harry shakes his head 'no.' "Well that is just appalling. I demand you go find your seat at once so I can rectify the situation immediately."

Harry giggles through Louis' playful command. His eyes dart from left to right, and when he decides no one is looking Harry ducks down to press a kiss to Louis' cheek. "For luck," he whispers, breath hot against the shorter man's ear, and pulls away. With one last encouraging smile, Harry disappears back through the curtain to join the crowd.

Louis has a dopey smile on his face as Harry leaves, his cheek tingling with the memory of Harry's kiss. He's so proud of the brunet for being brave enough to give him a little affection in such a public space. That's how it is with Harry, though: Where he feels safe, he's a completely different person. And Louis has learned that the two places Harry feels safe are in private and at events where he knows the majority of people attending are LGBTQ. A ‘queer bubble’ of sorts.

The grin is still plastered on his face when he turns around and comes face-to-face with his flatmate. Zayn's arms are crossed over his now ample chest, an arched, penciled eyebrow raised over the rim of Veronica's glasses. "Just friends, eh, Louis?" Zayn asks, his voice coming out flat.

Louis raises his hands helplessly. "He might be my Liam," he says softly.

And for Zayn, that's all that needs to be said. Giving an understanding nod that makes the curls of the wig bounce, Zayn grabs the other microphone, and the pair head out to face their adoring crowd.

The stage lights are blinding at first, only the first few rows of chairs visible in the darkness beyond them. A cheer erupts as the two third years make their appearance, with a few laughs and a cry of "is that _Zayn Malik?"_ mixed in.

Louis quickly searches for Harry's face, finds him seated just beside the makeshift catwalk. Niall is next to him, head tossed back in a laugh. Grinning, Louis taps the microphone and begins to speak. "Good evening, everyone!" His voice is amplified through the sound system, cutting through the cheers. "Welcome to the third annual amateur drag show!"

Zayn as Veronica sashays to the edge of the stage, one hand resting daintily on a popped hip. "Yes, welcome! That's Louis Tomlinson and I'm Veronica Malik, and we'll be your hosts for this evening." More cheers, and Louis can't say he blames them; Zayn in drag is certainly a sight to behold.

Louis takes over again. "We've got a great show for you tonight. A lot of first time performers, as well as some local favourites. Tip well! All tips raised tonight will be donated to London Lesbian and Gay Switchboard!" The crowd claps at that and Louis beams, always the proudest of the events that are for a good cause.

"All right, get your wallets out and put your hands together for our first performer of the evening, Amanda Bone!" The two hosts concede the stage to the first queen, a third year business major known as Alan when he isn't performing. Rihanna's "S&M" blares from the speakers, and from his spot backstage Louis is pretty sure he hears the crack of a whip followed by a howl from the audience.

"You nervous?" Louis asks as Zayn undoes the button down, trading it for a slinkier top for their duet. Louis hasn't told Harry about his role in the performance, wanting to surprise the younger man. He wonders if Harry will be brave enough to tip any of the performers, entertaining the image of a red-faced Harry timidly holding out a note while a drag queen ruffles his curls and kisses his cheek. _Take pictures, Niall..._

After Louis and Zayn's friend Shay comes off the stage dressed as Holden Toucher, it's the duo's turn to perform. "Good luck!" Holden says, planting a wet kiss to Louis' cheek. Louis scrunches his nose up at the tickle of Holden's fake facial hair.

"Come on!" Zayn as Veronica calls, grabbing Louis' hand and pulling him toward the stage. Holden gives Veronica a swat on the bum as they pass.

There are whistles and catcalls from the audience as everyone notices Veronica's wardrobe change. The modest blouse has been replaced with a tight, low cut black top that shows a fair bit of engineered cleavage. The pencil skirt is traded for a short miniskirt, edged in rainbow sequins to match Louis' suit. The stage lights cut out suddenly as the music starts, the first few beats of a song playing in the darkness, until a spotlight comes on over Veronica right as the vocals come in.

"Hey, I heard you were a wild one, oooh," Veronica mouths into the microphone, eyes closed. The crowd screams once they recognize the song. "If I took you home, it'd be a home run. Show me how you do." Veronica wraps both hands around the mic, opening her eyes and peering out at the audience seductively over the frames of her glasses.

"I want to shut down the club with you," Veronica's lower lip wiggles on the last note, pretending to hold it. She slips the microphone from its stand. "Hey, I heard you like the wild

ones, oooh."

The lights come back on full blast as the beat drops, Louis stepping to the edge of the stage and lip syncing along with Flo Rida's part. Neither he nor Zayn are terribly confident dancers, as evidenced by his hip thrusting and silly hand motions and Veronica's... flailing. It's getting a great reaction from the crowd though, and the cheering emboldens Louis.

At Veronica's next solo, she slinks across the stage and grabs Louis' tie, pulling him close with it and mouthing the words directly into his face. Louis bites his lip and grabs onto her padded hips, turning his head to wiggle his brows at the hollering crowd. They grind together until the next verse when they strut in tandem down the catwalk, Louis genuinely surprised at Zayn's ability to walk so confidently in heels.

As the verse continues, Louis works one side of the catwalk and Veronica the other, gathering tips as they go. Louis leans down to take a bill from a girl's cleavage with his teeth, laughing as he tucks the note into his pocket afterward. He glances over his shoulder to see what Veronica is getting up to, only to see her pulling a very flustered Harry Styles onto the stage.

Harry has a panicked look on his face, money still clutched in his fist from where he had evidently tried to tip Veronica. She slings her arms around his neck and sways against him, serenading him in Sia's voice. Louis is so flabbergasted that he almost forgets to mouth along when his part comes up again.

Harry is getting into the song now, relaxing and swaying along with Veronica. His mouth is spread wide in silent laughter, cheeks rosy and eyes bright. He catches Louis staring at him and spares him the tiniest wink before turning his attention back to Veronica. Harry bites his lip and tugs Veronica in close, entirely for Louis’ benefit, he’s sure. Veronica plays right along, singing to Harry with swinging hips and smoldering eyes. She eventually plucks the crumpled bill from his hand, kisses him on the cheek, and helps him down off the stage to a round of applause.

Shaking his head as he sings along, Louis grabs Veronica's hand and leads her back to the main stage for the last verse. The song ends with Veronica sliding the microphone back onto the stand, mouthing along with Sia's last solo. "I am the wild one, break me in. Saddle me up and let's begin. I am the wild one, tame me now. Running with wolves and I'm on the prowl."

The crowd is on their feet as the music fades, stamping and clapping. The people who hadn't gotten a chance to tip the duo directly are tossing notes (Louis even thinks he spots a tenner!) onto the stage. Breaking character, Louis crosses to Veronica and picks her up, spinning her around.

When he sets her back down, she approaches the mic once more. "And that's the show! We hope you guys had a great time, we all did. Thanks for your donations and for a great Coming Out Week!" She holds out a hand toward Louis. "Give it up again for my wonderful co-host, Louis Tomlinson!"

Louis leans into the microphone, playfully nudging her aside with his hip. "And let's hear it one more time for the beautiful Veronica Malik! She's single, boys!" The crowd titters with laughter, Veronica blushing under the makeup caked on her face. "Let's have all the performers back out on stage!"

All of the kings and queens filter out from behind the curtain, lining up and taking a deep bow as the applause and cheers increase in volume. And then the show's over, the lights overhead coming on and the performers disappearing backstage to transform back into their everyday personas.

Harry pops through the curtain a moment later, completely bypassing a topless Zayn and flinging his arms around Louis' shoulders. "You were brilliant!" he crows, eyes dancing and dimple out in full force. The brunet glances over at Zayn, who is carefully peeling away the duct tape they had used to create the illusion of cleavage. "You too, Zayn."

Zayn winces as he finally gets the tape off his skin, rubbing at the irritated flesh. "Ouch. Thanks, mate. How do queens do this every week?" He tosses the tape down and moves to the mirror to take off his false lashes.

Louis laughs, snaking an arm around Harry's waist, pleased when the taller boy doesn't pull away. "Yeah, but your tits looked fantastic." This draws an amused snort from Harry.

Zayn's reflection shoots the pair an uneven glare, one set of lashes gone and the other still attached. "Like you'd even know," he says sourly.

"Well, I for one can appreciate a nice set of boobs," Harry says indignantly. He watches in fascination as Zayn peels off the other set of false eyelashes. “Nice to see you again, Zayn.”

Zayn gives Harry a brief smile and begins dabbing at his heavily made up face with a cleansing wipe. "You too, Harry. Thanks for being such a good sport, like, with the dancing."

Harry's face reddens at the memory. "Err, yeah, it was fun I guess." He tucks himself further into Louis' side, clearly embarrassed.

"I can't believe you went along with it," Louis says, using his free hand to unbutton his suit jacket. Harry pulls away and begins to unknot Louis' tie, long fingers deftly undoing the fabric.

"I can't either," he admits, pulling the tie free and neatly rolling it into a spiral. "I just felt safe, I guess. Like, at these events, I don't feel like anyone is going to judge me or hurt me. It's quite nice." He politely looks away when Louis unbuttons his trousers.

Louis hurriedly slides them off and pulls on his jeans, Harry turning back to him once the zip is done up. "Well, I'm glad you feel safe with us. That's the whole point, really." He picks open the buttons of his shirt as he talks, and this time Harry doesn't turn away. "What'd you think of your first drag show, Curly?"

Harry's gaze reluctantly moves from the exposed plane of Louis' chest up to his face. "It was great. I had loads of fun. I can't believe what you can do with a little makeup." He frowns at the wad of tape on the floor. "And, er, duct tape, apparently."

"A lot of makeup," Zayn chimes in. His face is mostly clean, though his eyes are still rimmed in eyeliner. Zayn looks damn good in eyeliner.

The curtains brush aside again and a blond ball of energy bursts through. "Hey! That was incredible!" Niall cries, slapping Louis' back as he finishes pulling a shirt over his head. Niall pauses when he catches sight of Zayn, still wearing the miniskirt. "Holy cow, there's no way you were just that Veronica lady." Niall's eyes fall to Zayn's chest, now clearly lacking something.

Louis laughs as he folds his shed clothing, tucking it into his bag. "I'm guessing this was your first drag show too, then. Niall, this is my flatmate, Zayn."

Niall and Zayn strike up a conversation as Louis finishes packing his clothes away, Harry looking on silently. He shoulders the bag once he's finished, meeting Harry's eyes and reveling in the way Harry's face lights up when he looks at him. The adrenaline from performing has him feeling brave, and the words are out of his mouth before he can think twice about them. "Do you want to come over to mine?"

Harry blinks in surprise before his face splits into a grin. "Yeah, that'd be great," he says, his voice coming out breathy. Louis' stomach flutters at Harry's eager acceptance, his chest filling with warmth. _Shit, what is this boy doing to me?_

Zayn is still removing traces of Veronica, now struggling out of a pair of control top pantyhose while Niall giggles uncontrollably. He's pleased to see their flatmates getting on so well, and judging from the fond look in Harry's eyes he feels the same. "I'll meet you at home, Zayner. Harry's going to come with me if that's all right?"

"'S fine!" Zayn cries, finally extricating himself from the fabric but nearly losing his pants in the process.

Niall's laughter dies down as the boy swipes at his tearing eyes. "Good, I wanted the room to meself anyway! Gonna hit the town, maybe I'll have some luck!"

Harry just rolls his eyes.

♠♥♣♦

Now that Louis has Harry alone in his flat, he isn't exactly sure what to do with him. He gives Harry the grand tour, hastily picking up empty bottles and dirty dishes as they go through the two bedroom flat.

Harry doesn't seem to mind the clutter, instead focusing on the little bit of decor Zayn and Louis have accumulated in their two years of sharing the space. "What's this?" he asks, pointing to a large painting on the wall above their pub-style dining table.

Louis deposits the latest haul of dishes into the sink. "Oh, Zayn painted that. He can do wicked things with a can of spray paint," Louis explains. He tugs open the fridge and peers inside, willing it to have filled itself with groceries while he was gone, but no such luck. "I was going to offer to feed you, but it would seem that your only choices are beer or mayonnaise." Louis slams the door shut, smiling apologetically at Harry.

Harry has climbed into one of the chairs at the dining table, chin propped up in his hand. "Sounds lovely," he says wryly. "I don't know how Zayn keeps his girlish figure."

Tittering, Louis grabs his laptop from his bag and joins Harry at the table, doing his best not to react when their knees bump together. "Let's order a pizza. I don't feel like going back out." He pulls up the online order form and begins filling in his address. "What toppings do you want?"

"Chicken and sweet corn!" Harry says excitedly.

Louis stops typing to stare at the apparent five-year-old across from him. "Harold, in what world is sweet corn an acceptable pizza topping?" He shakes his head and selects chicken, adding ham, pepperoni, green peppers, jalapenos, and extra cheese to one half.

Harry sulks, now resting his chin in his cupped hands. "It's really good. I'll make it for you sometime," he mutters.

Louis finds himself strangely charmed by the idea of Harry cooking for him, concentrating on a dish and carefully mixing all the ingredients, probably cleaning as he goes. He may also be wearing a silly apron in Louis' imagination, but that's beside the point.

"Yeah, sure, you can make me pizza sometime," Louis agrees as he finalizes the order. "But you're not putting corn on it."

They continue bickering about things that shouldn't be pizza toppings (pineapple and anchovies both make the list) until Zayn gets home. His hair is mussed from being under a wig, but other than that he looks as runway ready as ever, smudges of eyeliner still clinging to his heavily lidded eyes.

"What are you two on about?" he asks, tossing his bag on the couch and retrieving a beer from the fridge. He offers one to Louis and Harry, both boys taking a bottle from him once he's popped off the caps.

“Pizza toppings.” Harry takes a gentle pull from the beer, cheeks hollowing as he drinks (and that absolutely does not give Louis any ideas, none whatsoever). He winces, licking his lips. "More of a wine drinker, me," he explains.

Louis takes a swallow of his own. "Yeah, but sometimes you can't beat having a beer with the lads. Especially not with pizza!" he shouts as a knock sounds at the door. He rushes to retrieve their dinner from the delivery person and returns to the table looking like he's won a prize.

"Aw, where's mine?" Zayn asks, sticking out his full lower lip.

Louis doesn't bother with getting plates, just opens the box and digs in. His half of the pizza is piled almost comically higher than Harry's, who is muttering under his breath about the omission of sweet corn. "Harry's half is just chicken, I'm sure he'd share," Louis says, foolishly taking a large bite and burning the roof of his mouth.

Zayn joins them at the table, turning his beer in his hands. "Nah, only joking. I grabbed a bite on the way home. Thanks, though." He raises an eyebrow, touches of makeup still coating the dark hairs. "Though who on earth puts corn on a pizza?"

They sit around the table chatting until Louis and Harry have demolished the pizza, Harry even picking up the crusts Louis had left and munching on them. The banter comes easily, the three of them falling into comfortable conversations as if they've been friends for years. Harry is in his element like this, away from crowds and prying eyes, just able to focus his energy on Louis and Zayn.

It's nearing midnight when Zayn finally pushes away from the table.

"I'm going to take a shower and get to bed," he announces, yawning. "I have duct tape residue on chest and my shirt keeps sticking to it."

"'Night, Zayner!" Louis calls after his flatmate as the other man pads down the hall to the washroom.

Across the table, Harry glances down at his watch. "It's getting late. I still have to walk home," he groans, crossing his arms on the table and resting his forehead on them. "Hopefully Niall wasn't serious about bringing someone back to ours."

"You could stay," Louis says softly, mouth suddenly feeling quite dry. And shit, where had that come from? Harry is barely comfortable enough to touch Louis in public, and now he expects him to sleep over? "I mean, if you want to. I can sleep on the couch or something," Louis mumbles hurriedly, eyes focused on his clasped hands on the tabletop.

"Yeah, all right.”

The younger man has a small smile pulling at his lips when Louis glances up in surprise.

"Really?"

Harry nods his head, a curl falling into his face. He tucks it behind his ear. "Yeah. It's cold out, and, erm," he twists his lips nervously, "you don't have to take the couch." Louis must wear his surprise on his face because Harry's eyes widen suddenly. "Oh god, I didn't mean it like that!" He smacks his palm against his forehead. "I just meant it might be nice to have someone to sleep next to, is all."

Louis' apprehension edges away, replaced with the warmth in his chest he's beginning to associate with Harry. He can't think of the last time he'd simply slept next to somebody.

Well, unless you count crawling in bed with Zayn after a night out, and even Zayn gets a little handsy after too much to drink.

"I'd like that very much, Styles," Louis says, pushing away from the table and sliding his bum out of the chair. "Shall we?" he asks, jokingly offering an arm.

Harry laughs but follows suit, looping his arm through Louis' and letting the older man lead the way to his bedroom. It's around the same size as Harry's room, the space filled with Louis' unkempt full sized bed and a dresser. There's a pile of dirty laundry spilling from the closet and the bed is covered with his laptop and textbooks, as Louis much prefers to do his schoolwork sprawled out on the mattress as opposed to at the perfectly serviceable desk mere centimetres away.

"Oops," Louis winces as he takes in the sorry state of his bedroom. "I wasn't exactly expecting company." He kicks fruitlessly at the pile of laundry as he crosses to the bed, gathering up the mess of schoolwork and dumping it on his already cluttered desk.

"I'll remind you that I live with Niall," Harry says, unfazed, closing the door behind him and leaning against it.

Neither of them speaks, Louis perched on the edge of his bed with Harry still across the room.

And god, it's so _uncomfortable._

"You okay? I really can sleep on the couch," Louis says, his voice puncturing the tense silence. His gaze falls to his lap, fidgeting. "I don't normally do this, shit, I'm so awkward." Louis berates himself for letting Harry see this side of him. On campus he's all confidence, head held high and devil-may-care attitude. That's who Harry had been attracted to, not the fumbling, self-conscious man nervous about sleeping next to someone new for the first time.

Harry hesitantly peels himself away from the door, slowly crossing the room on those long, gangly legs of his. He stops in front of Louis, pulling at the fabric of his open waistcoat. "You don't normally bring men home?"

"Er, no, I do that often enough.” Louis scoffs before he can stop himself. “Not that often, but, you know," he says, backpedaling. _Smooth, Tommo._ He gives Harry a placating smile. "I'm not making myself sound any better, am I?"

Harry chuckles, lowering his body to sit next to Louis on the bed. He bounces up and down, testing the give of the mattress. "It's fine. I didn't exactly think you were inexperienced."

Louis huffs indignantly. "Harry Styles, are you insinuating I have a reputation? How very dare you."

Harry only laughs in response, knocking his knee gently against Louis'.

"You're right, though,” Louis admits. “I'm not. I think sex is fun and I enjoy having it, and as long as I’m being safe I don't feel like there's anything wrong with that." He reaches over to splay a hand on Harry's thigh. "This is different, though. Bringing someone to my bed just for a cuddle."

"You've had boyfriends, though. Surely they slept over without it leading to sex."

"Of course. But like you said, they were boyfriends. Not someone I've known for all of a month." He grins cheekily, mouth wide enough to show off the crooked incisor in his lower jaw. "You're just different, I guess."

Harry looks away bashfully, but Louis can still see the flush spreading down the other man's neck. "Erm, I don't have anything to wear to sleep in," Harry says, changing the subject.

Shaking his head fondly, Louis pushes off the bed and steps to the dresser. He pulls out a pair of joggers, tossing them to Harry. "Zayn should be out of the bathroom by now. You're welcome to use anything you need, but you should try his face wash because he buys the fancy shit."

Harry giggles, balling the joggers to his chest as he stands. "I'll keep that in mind. Be right back."

Once Harry slips down the hall to the bathroom, Louis quickly swaps his clothing for pyjama bottoms. They're green and grey flannel, his favourite pair, the hems worn from being trod on. He decides to leave his shirt on, not wanting to make Harry uncomfortable.

When Harry reenters the room, face freshly scrubbed and wearing the borrowed bottoms, Louis takes his turn in the toilet. He stares at his reflection as he brushes his teeth, amused at the bits of glitter flecking his golden skin—no doubt a souvenir from the drag show (thank you, Veronica). Once he's completed his nightly routine, he heads back to his bedroom and the boy waiting there.

Harry's already in bed when Louis returns, the duvet tucked up around his chest. Louis' eyes sweep over the supine man, noting that Harry must have stripped off his shirt before crawling into bed. Still, Louis decides to keep his on. The thought of his skin pressed against Harry's... Well. It's exhilarating to imagine, but that's exactly why he needs the protective layer of fabric in place.

After switching off the light, Louis slips into bed next to Harry, the other man having claimed the spot next to the wall. Harry rolls to his side, tentatively inching closer to press the length of his body against Louis'. Louis shivers despite the warmth emanating from Harry's body, opening his arms to the brunet. Draping himself across Louis, Harry pillows his head on Louis' firm chest, a happy sigh escaping his parted lips. Unable to resist, Louis dips his head to press his nose into Harry's curls, inhaling a scent that is musky yet floral and just Harry.

"This is nice," Harry mumbles into Louis' chest.

"Mmhmm," Louis affirms, giving Harry a gentle squeeze.

He's caught off guard as Harry tilts his head back, brushing his lips gently against Louis'. "Been wanting to do that all day."

Louis’ lips feel electrified, the barest contact with Harry's enough to send tingles down his spine. He dips his head down to hungrily reclaim Harry's full mouth with his own. Harry keens softly, while Louis rolls to his side to better align their bodies. He slots a leg between Harry's, pulling the long, lean man tightly against him as they explore each others' mouths.

Louis breaks the kiss first, catching the breath he's been too distracted to draw with Harry's lips on his own. Harry takes the opportunity to kiss his way down Louis' neck, sucking and nibbling experimentally as he goes. When his teeth sink into the sensitive spot just above Louis' collarbone, he groans and pushes the other man away.

Harry's sitting up in an instant, eyes wide and fearful. "Did I do something wrong?" he asks, panicked.

Louis reaches out to pull Harry back down to the mattress. "No, babe, not at all. You were doing a little too well, if you know what I mean," Louis says, feeling his face flush as he shifts his hips.

Harry's mouth falls open in surprise when he feels Louis' half-hard cock brush against his leg. "Oh." His lips press into a pleased smile.

Louis' blushing furiously now. "Don't look so smug," he says, swatting Harry playfully. He takes a few deep breaths, silently willing his arousal to fade.

Harry's smile only grows as he snuggles back into Louis' embrace. "I'll try not to. I suppose we should actually attempt to get some sleep then." He presses one more gentle kiss to Louis' mouth. "G'night, Lou."

"Night, Curly," Louis replies, dusting his lips against Harry's forehead. It doesn't take long for either man to drift off to sleep, wrapped in each other's arms.

♠♥♣♦

When Louis wakes up the next morning, the first thought that crosses his mind is warm.

He blinks awake slowly, eyes falling to the long, toned arm draped around his waist. Louis' shirt has ridden up during the night, leaving his midriff bare, the light skin of Harry's arm emphasising the golden tone of Louis'.

Harry must feel Louis stirring because he pulls Louis closer to him, nuzzling his face in the space between Louis' neck and shoulder. His breath comes out in warm, even puffs against Louis' throat.

Louis carefully extricates himself from Harry's grasp, trying not to disturb the sleeping man as he gets out of bed. Harry whines in protest at the loss of contact, scooting over to nestle into the warm spot Louis' body leaves behind. Louis watches Harry sleep for a moment, admires the way his full lips turn down at the corners and his short, dark lashes contrast against the skin of his eyelids. Louis reaches out and gently caresses the sleeping man's cheek with the back of his hand before lightly padding out of the room.

The flat is still and peaceful, late morning light filtering through the windows and reflecting off dust motes drifting aimlessly through the air. Humming softly to himself, Louis sets about putting the kettle on, pulling three mugs down from the cupboard and lining them up on the worktop.

Zayn apparently hears him rattling around because his flatmate steps blearily into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and looking like a tired kitten. He tilts his head curiously at the number of mugs on the countertop. "Harry sleep over?" he asks, his voice hoarse with sleep.

Louis hums in assent as he sets out milk and sugar. He pops a few slices of bread into the toaster.

Zayn leans against the counter, arms crossed over his bare chest and one eyebrow raised as he watches Louis prepare breakfast.

"Don't look at me like that," Louis snaps, waving a teaspoon threateningly. "Nothing happened."

Zayn chuckles, batting the spoon-wielding hand away. "I figured. I've lived with you for two years, mate. And I hate to break it to you, but these walls aren't that thick, and you aren't that quiet." He ignores Louis' mortified yelp and leans over to snatch the first piece of toast from the toaster.

Flustered, Louis fills the three mugs and passes one to Zayn. "Never having sex here ever again," he mutters.

Zayn takes the tea, grinning madly. "That's a lie and we both know it.” He begins spooning sugar into his tea, much to Louis' disdain. “At least you've had _some_ action in the past six months."

Louis puts the second round of toast on a plate before digging in the refrigerator for butter and jam. He smears two slices with each, figuring he'll take whichever variety Harry doesn't want. "You could have too, if you weren't so hung up on Liam." He pauses, tapping the knife against the jam jar thoughtfully. "Please tell me you at least got his number after the photo."

Zayn blows across the surface of his tea, taking a testing sip. "Er, not exactly, no."

Louis groans, tossing the knife into the sink with a clatter. "Oh, you are so hopeless! Just ask him out! What's the worst that could happen?"

"He could reject me, and I'd never be able to pick up the printing ever again?"

"Wow, mate. That is life ending, indeed," Louis says blandly.

Zayn makes a noise of frustration deep in his throat. "I don't even know if he's interested in men, let alone me!" He takes a bite out of his toast, chewing aggressively.

"Well, you'll never know if you don't take the time to find out," Louis lectures. He loads a tray up with the toast, tea, and a little bowl each of sugar and milk. "Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a very fit boy in my bed who I have every intention of spending the day snogging," he says, hefting the tray.

"Yeah, yeah, just keep it down," Zayn says with a laugh, playfully swatting Louis' bum as he passes.

Louis sticks out his tongue in response and slowly makes his way back to his bedroom, skillfully avoiding sloshing tea out of the mugs as he goes.

He makes it back to his room with no major spills, nudging open the door with his hip and kicking it closed behind him. Harry is cocooned in the duvet, face pressed against the pillow,  surrounded by a fan of curls. Louis deposits the tray onto the bedside table before taking a seat on the bed.

"Rise and shine, Harry," he says softly, running his fingers through the sleep-mussed curls peeking over the blanket.

Harry stirs beneath his fingers, whining softly. "Don' wanna." His head disappears completely underneath the bedspread.

Louis tugs at the covers, laughing softly. "I brought you breakfast, though!"

A bleary green eye appears at the edge of the duvet. "You did?" His voice is even more hoarse than usual from sleep. He catches sight of the tray and pokes his head back out of the bedding, turning to Louis with a look of disbelief on his face, red lines from the pillow streaking his cheek. "No one's ever brought me breakfast in bed before."

Louis grabs a spare pillow and tucks it behind Harry, helping the other man prop himself up before moving the tray to the bed. "Well, now they have. I'm a shit cook, though, so I'm afraid it's only tea and toast."

Harry spoons some sugar into one of the mugs, the spoon clinking against the sides as he stirs. "It's perfect. Thanks, Lou." He takes a drink of his tea, satisfied with the amount of sugar he’d added.

Harry ends up taking a slice of each kind of toast. The pair eat their breakfast in silence, just enjoying each other's presence. Louis can't help watching the other man as he eats, the way he sticks out his tongue before he takes a bite and licks at the smear of jam he manages to get on his thumb. Something stirs in Louis at the sight of Harry's cheeks hollowing around the digit, at the way he pulls it from between those plump lips with a little _pop,_ but he brushes away the thoughts with a hard swallow.

Draining the last few mouthfuls of his tea, Harry sets the mug back on the tray. His eyes are half closed and he looks positively sated, like a warm, sleepy cat. "That was really good, Lou. Thank you." He opens up his arms in invitation.

Louis removes the tray and folds himself into Harry's embrace, tucking his head beneath the younger man's chin. He wrinkles his nose at the sharp grit of crumbs underneath his face. "You're a messy eater. Gonna be finding crumbs in bed for days."

Harry laughs, nuzzling against Louis' hair. "Sorry. Guess that was pretty crummy of me," he jokes.

Louis hopes Harry can feel him rolling his eyes. "You're a mess, Styles. What am I going to do with you?"

Harry's reply is so soft that Louis barely catches it, and even then isn't convinced of what he hears. It seems even more muffled by the sound of Harry's heart pounding underneath his ear. "Sorry? What was that?"

"I said, be my boyfriend," Harry repeats, louder this time but with a noticeable tremor in his voice.

_Yeah. That's what I thought he said._

Louis is still for a moment, just taking a few deep breaths in time with the rise and fall of the chest beneath his cheek. He pulls out of Harry's arms, sitting back up to face the curly haired man.

Harry's eyes are anywhere but on Louis, wide and uncertain. His teeth are tugging at his bottom lip, something Louis notices he often does when stressed. His arms, no longer occupied by Louis, wrap around his torso, shoulders hunching as he curls in on himself.

"Harry," Louis begins, mouth dry and feeling suddenly full of the crumbs littering the bed.

"Don't," Harry pleads softly, eyes drifting closed, wrinkles marring the smooth slope of his forehead. "Just forget I said it."

It sends a pang through Louis' chest that the boy has already prepared for the rejection Louis knows he should give. He sighs, stretching out his tapered fingers to cup Harry's face and turn it toward his own. "No, we need to talk about this." His thumb brushes the line of Harry's cheekbone. "What happened to taking things slow?"

Harry's eyes flit back and forth, searching Louis' face for some sign of his fate. "I liked waking up with you today, I want to do it more often."

"And you can. We don't need to put a label on that, right?"

Harry shakes his head, dislodging Louis' hand. "You said it last night, Lou. It was nice, me sleeping over, but it's not the same as having your boyfriend sleep over." His voice is small as he draws his knees up to his chest, hugging them tightly.

Louis folds his hands on his lap, picking at the skin around his fingernails. "You don't want me to be your first boyfriend, Harry. You've only just figured things out. You just kissed a man for the first time two days ago."

Harry's face tightens, eyes narrowing on Louis'. "Well, maybe that's the man I'd like to continue kissing." He exhales, expression softening incrementally. "Maybe I don't want him kissing anyone else."

Louis puts his face in his hands, fingers probing against his temples to ward off the headache he feels coming. Things were never supposed to get this fucking complicated. He likes Harry, he really does, and the idea of being able to call the fit, endearing man his boyfriend gives Louis butterflies. Louis' ready for something like that, something solid and real, deeper than bathroom blow jobs and one night stands, has been ready for a while now, he thinks. But being someone's first boyfriend... It's a bit daunting. "I just don't want you to get tied down and miss out on the fun of being a single, gay man."

Harry's face is stony, walls going up with every word Louis utters. "I'm not going to beg, Louis. If this isn't what you want, fine, but please don't do me any favours. I'm a big boy, I can handle it."

Louis just groans in response, tugging at his hair in frustration. "It is what I want! I just want you to make sure it's what you want!"

And, yet again, he feels his resolve slipping, because he does want this. He misses having someone to call his, to have someone to dote on and spoil. And he would very, very much like to spoil Harry.

"You're such an idiot," Harry cries with exasperation, and then his lips are on Louis', crushing and hurried, teeth clacking as they open into each other. Harry's tongue is in Louis' mouth, probing, pressing against Louis' own.

Louis gasps into the kiss as Harry reaches up to fist a hand in Louis' hair, giving the locks a sharp tug. His arms twine around Harry's neck, their heaving chests pressing together. Harry takes the gasp as encouragement, retracting his tongue to nip at Louis' bottom lip, following each bite with a soothing lick.

"You're not getting out of talking about this," Louis murmurs, fitting a word in every time Harry's mouth briefly leaves his own.

Harry presses his forehead against Louis', the tips of their noses brushing together, panting mouths tantalizingly close but not making contact. "We were talking about it. You weren't making sense so I thought I'd kiss some into you." Harry's warm breath ghosts across Louis spit-slick lips.

He chuckles, closing the distance between their mouths with a chaste peck. "Think you did the opposite. I must be losing my mind." He buries his head in the crook of Harry's neck. "What on earth have you done to me?"

They sit like that for what feels like an eternity, Louis mouthing lightly at skin of Harry's throat, Harry stroking his hair and peppering his forehead with sweet kisses. It feels right, being wrapped up in Harry like this, absolutely enveloped in the younger man's warmth. At the end of the day, Harry is right: he's a big boy, he can make his own decisions, and if this is what he wants... Well, who is Louis to deny him?

"Okay," Louis says simply, lips dragging along Harry's creamy skin as he speaks.

Harry's hands are on his shoulders, pulling their chests apart so he can look Louis in the eye. "Okay what?" he asks, breathing heavily, jaw clenching and unclenching in the silence preceding Louis' reply.

Louis has such a rush of emotion for the boy facing him, wanting nothing more than to kiss away the uncertainty pulling at Harry's features and whisper beautiful words into the brunet's skin. For now, he just pulls his arms from around Harry to lace their fingers together.

"We can try," he says, giving Harry's large hands a squeeze, marveling at how perfectly they envelope his own. "But I still want you to know you have a way out. It's never too late to decide this isn't what you want."

Harry's face breaks like the morning sky, his smile cutting through the stormy set of his features and setting the room aglow. He pulls his hands away from Louis' and throws his arms around the older man. "Thank you, thank you," he murmurs, punctuating the words with kisses. "I'm so happy, Louis."

Louis sighs into the embrace, allowing himself to relax into the other man's—his _boyfriend's_ —arms. "Me too."

♠♥♣♦

They spend the rest of their Sunday lazily tangled together, from kissing and cuddling in Louis' bed to sharing the garish armchair while Zayn sits alone on the large sofa. Zayn keeps muttering under his breath about the two of them being disgusting, but the upturn of his lips and happy squint to his eyes betrays his true feelings.

Around 5 o'clock, Harry announces that he needs to go home and do some schoolwork. "I had a really great day today, Lou," he says earnestly as he pulls on his trainers, still wearing Louis' jogging bottoms. They're the proper length on Harry, he notices, the frayed hems brushing the tops of the other man's shoes.

Harry follows Louis' gaze to the joggers. "Oh, right. I'll wash these and give them back to you later."

Louis steps in and presses a kiss to Harry's temple. "Nah, keep them. They fit you better anyway," he says, and it's true. Well. Harry doesn't fill out the backside quite as well as Louis does, but who could?

Harry's face lights up, eyes closed as he leans into Louis' contact. They connect their lips together in a brief (for Zayn's sake) kiss, and then Harry's slipping out of the door, waving madly until he's out of sight down the hall.

Louis leans against the door once he's closed it, a smug grin settling in on his features. Zayn raises an eyebrow from where he's resting against the kitchen counter, waiting for his microwave meal to finish cooking.

"What?" Louis asks, mirroring Zayn's expression.

"You gonna tell me what all that was about?" Zayn asks, gesturing at the door with the fork in his hand.

"Oh." Louis lets the smile reclaim his mouth. "He asked me to be his boyfriend."

Zayn chuckles, shaking his head as he moves to take his food from the beeping microwave. "Louis Tomlinson, you've gone soft."

 _Quite the opposite, actually._ "I really like him, Zayner. He's different than anyone I've ever met. The kid is literally just figuring out who he is, but it's like he's coming to life." Louis can't help but well up with pride at how far Harry has come from the shy, quiet student in the panel audience. The Harry who was brave enough to dare asking two questions, to reach out to someone, makes an appearance more and more each day. He danced onstage at a drag show, for crying out loud.

Zayn's face is soft. He carries his steaming meal to the couch, pausing to plant a friendly kiss to Louis' cheek as he passes. "I'm happy for you, Louis. I just don't want you to get hurt." His tone takes on a harder edge. "Just because he's pretty doesn't mean I won't kill him if he hurts you."

Louis squeals, wrapping himself around Zayn and nearly causing the other man to drop his food. "Aw, Zayn! You think he's cuuute!" Louis teases, fingers digging into Zayn's sides despite his flatmate's cries of protest.

"I hate you I hate you _get off me_ I hate you," Zayn chants, finally breaking free of Louis' grasp. Huffing, he takes the jostled TV dinner and stamps over to the couch, settling into his customary spot.

Louis follows, laughing, opting to sit next to Zayn as opposed to in his favoured chair. He rests a hand on Zayn's jean clad thigh. "Don't worry, mate. When you finally grow a pair and talk to Liam, you can get me back for all of this."

"I hope you're right, because I'm fucking planning on it," Zayn mumbles, blowing on his food to cool it.

Louis' phone chimes, and of course it's a text from Harry. It's a picture message, and when Louis downloads the attachment he wonders if can possibly be any more fond of the ridiculous boy.

The photo is a screenshot of Louis' contact information in Harry's phone, but instead of his name displayed across the top it now says 'Boyfrienddd' followed by a seemingly random string of emojis.

 _My boyfriend is a dork,_ Louis replies, and the warmth in his chest doesn't fade for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, and for all the lovely comments! Feel free to come say hi on [tumblr!](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com)
> 
> If you're enjoying the story, I'd love for you to reblog the [post](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com/post/116204252401/both-showing-hearts-by-kiwikero-icanhazzalou) for it! I also have a "bsh" tag for asks and inspiration.
> 
> See you in a week. <333


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter four already!! We're getting to the good stuff!
> 
>  **Warning** for a couple uses of derogatory words, homophobia, and bullying. I promise there's a happy ending, though!!
> 
> Thanks to Sarah and Bash for editing, and to Hannah and Vikki for letting me ask silly questions about British English.
> 
> I'm sorry this is late!! I hope everyone is still in one piece after seeing footie!Louis all day!
> 
> Song for this chapter: "Carry On" - Ben's Brother. The full playlist can be found [here](https://play.spotify.com/user/12159569080/playlist/3sb6QE1bNKN5z3n8pLc6G7).

The rest of October is quiet and simple, Louis and Harry falling into a rhythm in their newly forged relationship. Louis waits outside of Harry's classes and takes him to lunch. Their Friday coffee date still stands, the baristas knowing to expect them and having their drinks ready more often than not. Harry sleeps over most nights, but they never go beyond kissing, taking their time mapping each other's mouths with eager lips and tongues. It's slow and easy, but neither boy seems to mind, perfectly content with just being in one another’s company.

Now it’s a humdrum Thursday morning, and Harry is visiting Louis at the LGBTQ Resource Centre, something he does frequently. He’s sprawled out on the couch watching Louis work. Harry fits neatly into his life, Louis decides, as he listens to his boyfriend and Zayn bicker over which breakfast cereal is better.

"It's gotta be Corn Flakes. All there is to it, mate," Zayn says, shrugging helplessly.

Harry tosses his head back and forth fervently. "No, you're wrong and I won't stand for it. It's Special K all the way." He shoots Louis a pleading look. "Right, Lou?"

Chuckling, Louis swivels in the computer chair to face the quarreling pair. "I'm sorry to break it to you lads, but Coco Pops is the superior cereal. Now shut it so I can get some work done." Satisfied at their open-mouthed stares, he spins back around and continues answering e-mails. He has a few panel requests to organise, which involves sending out a call for volunteers and having more response forms printed. Which, _hmmm._

He twists back around suddenly, interrupting a new spat, this one about the best kind of chewing gum. "Oi, Zayn!” Louis leers expectantly at his flatmate. “How would you like to fetch some printing for me?"

Licking his lips, Zayn runs his fingers through his quiff. "Dammit, Tommo," he says, the set of his jaw tense despite the excitement Louis sees spark in his eyes.

Harry glances back and forth between them curiously. He knows that Zayn has a crush, sure, but they've never told him all the details of what Harry’s taken to referring to as the Liam Dilemma. "Er, I could pick up the printing if it's an issue?" He offers, large eyes blinking in confusion.

A harsh, guttural laugh trumpets from Zayn’s mouth. "It's all right, Harry. Your boy's just trying to rile me up." At Harry's blank expression, he adds: "That's where Liam works, the printing centre."

The accusation Zayn makes has Louis bristling. "I'm not trying to rile you up. I'm trying to get to you to talk to the damn man so you can stop mooning about all the time." He sniffs, crossing his arms over his jumper-clad chest. "Are you going or not? I really do need things printed."

Zayn pushes away from the study table, glowering. "Fuck you. You know I'm going. You're such a shit, Louis."

Louis knows he doesn't mean a word of it, just continues to smirk as he watches Zayn gather up his things, the black-haired man cursing all the while.

"I could go with you?" Harry offers hesitantly.

Both Zayn and Louis' heads jerk to look at the first year at the same time. Harry seems to wilt slightly under their sudden attention.

He fidgets on the sofa cushion, pale cheeks glowing with a pretty blush. "I could, er, get him talking, maybe? Introduce myself since I'm the new guy and all?" Each statement comes out a question, the boy unsure if he’s overstepping his bounds. "Besides, I'd quite like to see the man who has Zayn Malik swooning."

The tense beat of silence is broken first by Zayn laughing, then Louis joining in. Looking relieved, Harry chimes in as well, the trio dissolving into a fit of giggles that has Nick rolling his eyes from across the room.

"Yeah, okay, Harry," Zayn says once the outburst winds down, wiping at his streaming amber eyes. "Come with me, then. Though you're going to want him for yourself."

Louis scoffs, catching Harry's hand and pressing a brief kiss to it before they leave. "Oh, please. He's got the best right here. Liam is all yours," he says cockily.

"We'll see. I mean, if he's as fit as Zayn says he is..." Harry says with a suggestive grin, batting his eyelashes.

Louis' cry of feigned betrayal makes the younger man laugh, and before he realizes it Harry's lips are on his own, warm and soft and sweet. The kiss is brief and when Harry pulls away, his entire face is glowing.

Shaking himself out of the kiss-induced daze, Louis swats Harry on the bottom. "Just get on with it, you two," he says, attempting to sound exasperated.

Zayn and Harry laugh the entire way out the door, arms linked and hips knocking together. Pair of troublemakers if Louis' ever seen any.

Once they're out of sight, he raises a hand to his lips, tracing the memory of Harry's kiss with the tips of his fingers. That’s the first time Harry has ever kissed him in public. He smiles into his hand, warm all over, and pointedly ignores Nick making retching sounds from behind his desk.

♠♥♣♦

More often than not, Niall finds himself thrown into the mix as well. The four of them fall into place like they belong, Niall's brashness a counterpoint to Zayn's calm and a complement to Louis' flamboyance.

It’s no surprise, then, when on Saturday they all find themselves huddled together for warmth on the cold bleachers of their school’s stadium, waiting for the rugby players to arrive on the pitch. It’s still early in the season, and normally Louis wouldn’t bother going to a match until the finals, but this is a charity match against a club from a nearby university. When Niall and Harry mentioned wanting to go, Louis immediately offered to tag along; he wasn’t about to miss out on an event with his favourite first years. It didn’t take much to convince Zayn to tag along as well, and here they are.

"I haven't been to a match in ages," Louis remarks, taking the beer Niall passes him as the Irish lad takes a seat.

"I've never been to one," Harry says, a thermos of coffee clutched in his gloved hands. "I mean, I went to some in college, but never a proper one." His eyes scan the crowd. "Probably should have, since Thad's on the team and all. I wonder if Derek is here somewhere."

Louis can feel Harry tense up at the thought. He's had Louis over to his flat several times since they started dating, but his flatmates are rarely there and have never seen them out in public together as a couple. As far as Thad and Derek know, he and Harry are just good friends. With that in mind, Louis tries not to take it to heart when Harry eases himself away from his side, the centimetres of empty bench between them feeling like a wall put in place.

He doesn't have long to dwell, however, because the players are taking the field and the crowd erupts into cheers. All four boys are on their feet, stamping and clapping with excitement, ready to cheer on their school's team.

As the commotion dies down, a familiar bearded face topped off with a black beanie draws Louis' attention away from the field. Liam Payne is coming down the stairs, a beer in one hand and a bag of popcorn in the other. He looks a little lost, searching for a place to sit.

Zayn must sense Louis turn his body, preparing to call out to the newcomer. He follows Louis' line of vision before spinning around rapidly. "Don't you dare, Louis, _don't you fucking dare—"_

"Liam!" Louis calls, waving his arms to get the man's attention. "Over here!" His tenor carries well, even over the roar of the fans around them.

Liam's face lights up when he sees the group of boys, and he immediately begins descending toward them. Louis can definitely understand what Zayn sees in the man. Liam is sharply dressed in a woolen peacoat, a plaid scarf wound around his neck. His round cheeks are pink from the cool air, and the simple joy in his grin at not having to sit alone makes Louis nearly fall in love with the lad himself. He's like a puppy, really; you can't help but want to call him to you for a quick cuddle.

 _Okay, that got weird._ Dismissing his thoughts, Louis concentrates on gesturing to the empty seat on the other side of Niall.

"Hey, Liam! Good to see you. Sit with us, yeah?"

Liam's warm brown eyes travel along the row of faces before lingering on the open spot. "Er, you sure? I don't want to intrude on you lot. I usually sit by myself," he says, his tone jovial and bright.

"'Course, mate, sit down, the more the merrier!" Niall shouts, tugging at the bottom of Liam's coat. "I'm Niall, by the way."

Liam introduces himself to Niall, leaning forward to look down the row again. "I think I know everyone else, met Harry at the printing centre the other day." Realization dawns on his face. "Oh, I knew I recognized you from somewhere! It’s been bugging me since we met!"

Harry squeaks a little, surprised at Liam's outburst. "Me? Where did you recognize me from?" he asks, clearly puzzled.

"The drag show! You were the one that got pulled onstage!" Liam replies excitedly, a few pieces of popcorn tossed from the bag as he gesticulates. Niall watches them go sadly before easing the snack out of Liam's hand, thinking better of it and taking the beer as well.

Harry, Zayn, and Louis all share a look. Zayn's eyes are wide, his lips pressed into a tight line, but Louis can barely contain his glee. "Oh, were you there? We didn't see you." He can practically feel Zayn trying to disappear in the seat next to him. "What did you think, then?"

"It was loads of fun," Liam replies. "Lots of talented people. I'd never been before, and I had such a good time at that photo I thought I'd better make it to the last event on the calendar." His eyes lock on Louis', sincere and gleaming. "You were brilliant, actually. Like, you belong onstage. And the lady with you. Both bloody fantastic."

All eyes fall to Zayn as he starts choking. Louis gives him a few thumps on the back as Harry giggles and Niall looks on, happily munching on Liam's popcorn.

"That lady would be our Zayn here," Louis announces with glee, not bothering to hide the sheer joy in his voice.

Liam's mouth falls open, his eyes seeking out the cowering lump that used to be Zayn Malik. "No way, that was you?"

Zayn just groans quietly between Louis and Niall, face hidden in his hands.

"I'm seriously impressed, mate," Liam says, reaching around Niall to pat Zayn on the shoulder. Zayn's entire body goes rigid at the touch, his keening replaced by a few ragged breaths. "You were very convincing."

When Zayn doesn't respond, Louis elbows him hard in the side. Looking torn between wanting to murder Louis and wanting to die, Zayn wearily raises his head to give Liam a meagre smile. "Bit of duct tape and some heels, that's all it takes," he mumbles, but when Liam laughs, vibrant and staccato, Zayn noticeably perks up.

A whistle blows to signal the match starting, so five sets of eyes shift toward the pitch. "Still hate you," Zayn grumbles to Louis, watching Liam out of the corner of his eye.

The newcomer has struck up a conversation about the players with Niall. Louis is incredulous as Niall offers Liam some of his own popcorn and Liam accepts, actually thanking the blond for sharing. _What even is this boy?_ He glances back to Zayn, at the enamored look evident on his flatmate's face, and feels rather pleased with himself. Elated at his role in getting Liam and Zayn to interact, he slips an arm around Harry. The younger man leans into him automatically, so engrossed in the game that he either doesn't notice or doesn't care that they’re touching in public.

The game is pretty good, to be honest. The teams seem to be evenly matched, and at the end of the first half the away team is trailing by three points. Harry hadn't initially seemed to be very interested in rugby, but even he’s really getting into the match, cheering every time a pass is intercepted from the other team and booing when possession of the ball is lost.

Louis had thought about going out for football when he started university. He'd played in college and had done quite well, but in the end had decided to focus more on his studies. He tries to imagine now what that would have been like: scoring a goal on the pitch and glancing over to see Harry cheering him on, cheeks flushed and eyes bright with excitement. In another world, that would have been quite nice.

He's not complaining, though, as the taller boy tucks himself into Louis' side, burying his cold nose into the skin of Louis' neck.

Louis gives Harry a gentle squeeze, pressing a kiss to the forehead usually covered with curls (currently they’re tucked securely under the beanie he had stolen from Louis before the match). "You're cold, babe," Louis murmurs, the term of endearment slipping out.

Harry sighs as he snuggles deeper into Louis' embrace. "You can warm me up later," he says, lips dragging along the exposed column of Louis' throat.

Louis gulps, suddenly aroused at the suggestion in Harry's voice. It’s unusual for his boyfriend to be so brazen, especially sitting next to their friends (who are, admittedly, chatting away without giving the couple a second thought). Louis allows his eyes to drift closed, resting his cheek against the knit fabric of the beanie.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he replies, voice husky, though he's not sure if it's from the cold or just the want he feels for the man in his arms. They've only been together a couple weeks, sure, and Louis is more than happy to go at Harry's pace. But even Harry hinting that he might want to take things a step further... It’s enough to send a stream of dirty ideas through Louis' head.

"Oi, lovebirds, knock it off," Zayn says with a laugh, digging his elbow into Louis' ribs. Three sets of amused eyes are on them, Niall snickering into his hands.

Harry sheepishly peeks out around Louis, still snug against the older man's side. "Sorry, guys." He presses a quick kiss to Louis' jaw, whispering something that sounds suspiciously like 'later,' in Louis' ear, and then he's pulling away to watch as the second half of the match starts up.

They end up winning, 22 to 21, and the euphoria of the crowd is contagious. The five boys leap to their feet at the final whistle, jostling one another and cheering. Louis lets out an _oomph_ of surprise as Harry wraps his arms around him, lifting him off the ground.

"Put me down, you big oaf!" Louis cries, giggling and kicking his feet. Harry's laughing too, and when he finally does let Louis down he tips his head and gives the shorter man a kiss on the nose. Louis beams, absolutely fucking beams, at the tender display of affection. Harry is breathless, grinning at Louis like he's the only other person in the stadium, in the world, as they return to their seats, snuggled close.

It all comes crashing down a moment later, one whisper amongst the revelry tearing a hole in their bubble and allowing reality to come pouring in.

_"Fags."_

Louis stiffens in his seat, the arm around Harry protectively drawing the other boy closer to his side, and continues watching celebration on the pitch. Most likely it’s just someone trying to get a rise out of them, and Louis didn't want to give them the satisfaction.

He feels Harry breathing hard next to him, eyes wide and panicked. Louis presses his lips to his boyfriend's ear, whispering soothingly. "Shh, it's okay, baby. Don't let it get to you."

Harry swallows hard and nods, taking a couple deep breaths.

"All over each other. It's disgusting. Fucking faggots."

This time Harry jerks away from Louis like contact with the older boy burns him. Letting out an aggravated cry, Louis spins in his seat, fixing his glare on the pair of men sniggering a few rows away.

"Excuse me, do you have a problem?" he asks, his voice strong and unwavering despite his heart beating erratically in his chest.

"Louis, please don’t, let's just go," Harry begs next to him, sounding as if he's about to cry.

"I have a problem with you fairies flaunting in public," the man replies, words slurring. "Why don't you and your little boyfriend take your pansy arses elsewhere?"

Louis can handle insults thrown his way, but he will not have Harry brought into this. He leaps to his feet, fists balled and ready to fight. There's a flurry of movement as Zayn, Liam, and Niall stand up as well.

"You really don't want to fight all of us, mate," Liam says coolly, his voice firm and a murderous expression on his face. Drawn up to his full height, shoulders squared, Liam doesn't look like the kind of guy you'd want to pick a fight with.

The men look at the row of students facing them, sizing them up. They seem to decide against challenging Liam.

"Whatever. Not worth our time. That little poof is lucky you lot were here. Won't be so lucky next time." The two men get up and stumble away, joining what seems to be a group of friends further down the bleachers. They share a laugh and one of them sneers up at the five men. He looks familiar, but Louis can't seem to place him.

Louis is livid, so angry that he's physically shaking, and Zayn notices. "Hey, man, it's all right, they were just jerks," he murmurs, giving Louis' shoulder a little squeeze.

Louis nods, letting out a ragged breath he hadn’t realised he's been holding. He knows that, of course he does. But Harry doesn't.

_Oh shit, Harry—_

The younger man is slumped over, face hidden in his arms and crying softly into them. Louis is immediately back beside Harry on the bench, gathering the sobbing man into his embrace.

Harry jerks away again, striking out with his fists. "Don't touch me," he cries. "Please, please don't."

Feeling on the verge of tears himself, Louis just watches Harry's back shake as the sobs wrack his body. He turns to the others, wide-eyed expressions echoed on each face. "What do I do?" he asks, his voice cracking. He has never felt so helpless in his entire life.

Niall is beside Harry in an instant, tugging the taller boy up from the bleachers. "I'm gonna take you home, all right?" the blond asks, rubbing small, comforting circles into Harry's back. Harry nods, hiccoughing, his face blotchy and wet from the tears. He allows Niall to keep a hand on his back, guiding him toward the aisle. "I'll text you," Niall mouths over his shoulder before leading Harry out of sight.

Once the first years are gone, Louis can feel Liam and Zayn both watching him curiously. The crowd has mostly dissipated, leaving behind clusters of students chatting to each as they finish their beers. Louis shakes his head, not knowing what to say.

"What was that all about?" Zayn asks quietly, a hand sneaking up Louis' back to knead at the nape of his neck.

Louis leans into the touch, unaware of how much he'd tensed up until reminded by Zayn's talented fingers. "He's never had that happen before," Louis says with a sigh. "He's still closeted, and we don't touch much in public, and... Shit! He's probably never been called a slur in his entire life." Louis hangs his head, fringe escaping from his beanie and falling over his eyes. "It's my fault. I knew he wasn't comfortable with PDA, and I was all over him."

"Hey, Harry was into it too, mate. Don't put the blame on yourself. It’s that arsehole's fault, not yours." Zayn probes at the tightly knotted muscles at the top of Louis' back. "He'll be okay. It sucks more before you learn to tune it out, right?"

Louis just lets himself sit there, numb, Zayn's deft fingers working their magic. "I guess so. I knew he wasn't ready. I told him." Louis chokes up, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. He clenches them shut tightly, refusing to allow himself to cry in public.

Zayn’s hand falls away as Louis sits up straighter, the muscles in his neck already less tense from the brief massage. "That was pretty amazing, by the way," Louis says to Liam, who's been watching the whole exchange with wide, puppy dog eyes.

"Nah, it was nothing. Those guys were jerks. I'm not going to stand by and watch someone get bullied, now am I?" he says, half smiling.

"But, like, you didn't have to do that. You don't even know Harry." Zayn says.

With an even bigger smile, Liam responds, "You lot didn't know me either, and you invited me to join you." He lifts his shoulders, glancing between Louis and Zayn. "I imagine if the tables were turned, you would have stood up for me."

"Of course we would have," Zayn says quickly, and Louis can't help but smile at the pair of them. He really, really wants this to work out for Zayn, especially after getting to see more of Liam.

His mobile vibrates, loud in his pocket against the hard seat, and both boys look over at him curiously. "It's Niall," he announces, sliding his thumb over the screen to open the message.

_got h in bed he says he'll text u tomorrow. night lads!_

Louis' heart sinks at the thought of Harry being too distraught to even text him. Sighing, he stuffs the phone back into the pocket of his jacket and stands, Zayn and Liam follow rising as well. "Let's get going, yeah? I'm knackered," he says weakly, offering a thin smile.

Liam nods in understanding as Zayn places a comforting hand on the small of Louis’ back, and together the three of them leave the stadium.

♠♥♣♦

When Louis falls into bed that night, he automatically shifts to the side furthest from the wall. It takes a few moments for him to realize that he doesn't need to leave space for Harry tonight.

They've slept apart plenty since they started dating, but Louis has grown rather used to the warm, solid body pressed against him when he falls asleep, and waking up to the quiet snuffles of his boyfriend's snores. Feeling sorry for himself, his bed suddenly too big and too cold, Louis gropes for his mobile on the bedside table.

He taps on his text messages, opening up the thread of his and Harry's texts.

_I know you're probably asleep but I just wanted to let you know I miss you. Who's going to steal my duvet in the middle of the night tonight? ;)_

Louis falls asleep, phone in hand, waiting for an answer that never comes.

♠♥♣♦

When Louis wakes the next morning, he gropes for his mobile only to find it’s magically relocated to his bedside table during the night. He blinks at it blearily, trying to focus his eyes. _Zayn must have come to check on me,_ he reasons. The air in his room is chilly, but beneath the duvet is cozy and Louis snuggles down into the mass of bedding, sighing sleepily. He stretches out his legs, pausing when his bum backs into something soft and warm next to him.

Blinking, Louis rolls over to find that Harry has crept into his bed at some point. The younger man is stretched out on his side, head propped up on one arm and just watching Louis sleep.

When his eyes come in contact with Louis', he offers a reserved smile. "Morning, Lou," he says quietly.

Louis' eyes crinkle at the corners as he takes in the welcome sight of his boyfriend in bed next to him. He closes the distance between them, Harry’s arms enveloping him as he snuggles into the embrace. "I missed you," he breathes, the planes of Harry's hoodie-clad chest warm and solid beneath his cheek. Since Harry still has clothes on, Louis suspects he hasn't been in the bed very long.

Harry presses a line of kisses to Louis' rumpled hair. "Zayn let me in. I hope that's okay." He exhales deeply, fingers trailing up and down Louis' spine. "I missed you too. Wanted to be here when you woke up. I'm so sorry about last night. I don't know what got into me."

"S'okay. I'm sorry I put you in that situation. I shouldn't have been all over you like that." Louis savours the softness of the hoodie over the firm chest underneath, the scent of Harry's washing powder filling his nose with each inhale.

"And I should be allowed to snuggle my boyfriend in public." Harry's fingers leave Louis' back to card through his hair, gently combing out the sleep-induced tangles. He sighs heavily, and Louis can feel Harry's jaw clenching against his forehead. "Does it ever get easier? Being out, I mean."

Louis pulls away just far enough that he can meet Harry's eyes, wide and shining with the threat of tears. He reaches to run a hand along the side of Harry's face, gently cupping the younger man's cheek. Harry covers Louis' hand with his own, nuzzling into Louis' palm affectionately.

"There will always be assholes that don't understand and lash out. But think of everyone else we saw last night who didn't give a shit that we were clearly a couple." He presses a quick kiss to Harry's finely sculpted jaw. "You learn to block it out. Doesn't mean it can't still sting, but sometimes you have to focus on the things that really matter. I'd rather be hated for who I am than loved for who I'm not, you know?"

The tears that had been welling in Harry's eyes finally spill over, tracking streams down his cheeks and pooling against Louis' fingers still pressed there. He licks his lips, breathing unevenly, before saying in a husky voice: "Kiss me."

It would take a stronger man than Louis to resist his beautiful boyfriend, the younger man open and responsive as Louis pulls Harry down to cover his lips with his own. All the tension and anguish Harry has been bottling up comes pouring out in that kiss, his body bonelessly folding itself over Louis' smaller frame. Harry deepens the kiss, seeking entrance for his tongue and greedily taking it when it's given. Louis gasps into Harry's mouth, only encouraging Harry more. It's wet and hot and so full of desire that Louis can barely keep himself from moaning. Conscious of his flatmate just across the hall, however, he makes a concentrated effort. Still, a few small whines slip out between their lips, met with low, needy moans from deep in Harry's throat.

They've snogged a lot in the last few weeks, but never like this. This is much more intense, and before Louis can process what's happening, his spit-slick mouth is uncovered, exposed, and Harry is kissing down the column of his throat. He lets out a little gasp when Harry bites down, sucking gently and then lathing over the spot with his tongue. Wrapping his arms around the span of Harry's back, crushing their bodies together, Louis feels the hard line of Harry's erection pressing against his thigh.

"Harry," Louis moans, nudging the younger man's head away with his own. "If you keep this up, we're not going to be kissing for much longer," Louis warns, panting.

Harry continues mouthing at the tan skin of Louis' neck. "I don't want to stop," he murmurs, voice low and rumbling with want.

If Louis wasn't completely hard by then, he is now. The need in Harry's voice... _Fuck._ Louis takes a deep breath, struggling to hold onto his resolve long enough to pull Harry's face to his, looking him directly in the eye. "Are you sure?" he asks breathlessly.

Harry's eyes are dark, his already large lips swollen from kissing, and Louis has never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

"I want you," Harry all but whispers, and any self control Louis has managed to keep washes away in the tide of desire Harry's words send crashing over him. With a strangled cry, he recaptures Harry's mouth, licking and biting at the curve of his lower lip.

Harry moans, eyes slamming shut as he grinds down into Louis, pressing his own thigh against Louis’ erection. The thin flannel of his pyjama pants isn't much of a barrier, and Louis arches up into the contact.

Harry breaks the kiss and sits up, pulling off his hoodie and the t-shirt underneath. He roughly shoves the fabric of Louis' shirt up, swooping down to kiss at the exposed skin of Louis' solid chest. Squirming underneath the taller man, Louis manages to get his own shirt all the way off and pulls Harry back to him, savouring the skin to skin contact. They continue to kiss in a frenzy, rutting against each other as they explore each other's bodies with fingers and tongues.

When Harry reaches up to pinch Louis' nipple, the older man gasps and thrusts upward. Wrapping his arms tightly around Harry, he flips them over in one smooth motion so that he's now straddling his boyfriend's long, lean body.

"I want to touch you," he rasps, fingers poised questioningly at the fly of Harry's jeans.

"Yes, god. Please, Lou," Harry moans, reaching to help Louis undo the button. Louis slaps his hand away, tugging open the button and parting the fly tantalizingly slow. Each tooth of the zipper separating feels like an eternity to Louis, but he can see what the anticipation is doing to the boy underneath him and just can't bring himself to go any faster.

Once the flies are open, Louis tugs sharply on Harry's jeans, for the first time cursing his boyfriend's taste in skin tight trousers. He allows Harry to assist this time, pushing the jeans down his body, pants and all.

Louis sucks in a breath, overwhelmed by the taut, perfect body underneath him. Harry's freed cock rests against the brunet's trembling stomach, flushed and leaking against the pale expanse of his abs.

Louis reaches to take Harry in his hand but stops, meeting Harry's half lidded gaze. "You can stop me whenever you want to," he murmurs.

Harry throws his head back against the pillow, bucking his hips. "Louis Tomlinson, if you don't touch me this instant I swear to god—"

But Louis never finds out his would-be fate, choosing instead to wrap a slender hand around Harry's length. Harry hisses at the touch, fisting his hands into the sheets.

Delighting in the sheer pleasure flitting across Harry's face, Louis slowly, teasingly works his hand up and down Harry's shaft. He squeezes lightly at the base and flicks his thumb over the sensitive head, smearing the pre-come gathered there. They settle into an easy rhythm, Harry fucking into Louis' hand, while Louis skillfully matches Harry's thrusts.  Painfully hard at the mere sight of the boy spread out beneath him, Louis can’t help reaching down to palm himself through the tented fabric of his pyjama bottoms,

"You're breathtaking," Louis whispers, slipping a hand beneath his waistband to stroke himself.

Harry must notice what he's doing because he lets out a desperate cry, biting his lip and positively writhing underneath Louis. "Fuck, Lou, 'm so close," he pants, and with a few more pulls he's spilling over Louis' hand in hot streaks, eyes screwed shut and veins standing out in the sides of his neck.

The sight of Harry coming undone beneath him makes the muscles in Louis' lower body tense up before something snaps like a rubber band, his orgasm hitting him in a sudden burst of heat.

Gasping and spent, he collapses on top of Harry's body, both boys covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Harry's arms snake around him, pulling him close, and Louis lazily mouths at the flushed skin over Harry's collarbones as he catches his breath.

"That was incredible," Harry murmurs. "Never felt that good before." His wrecked voice is enough to make something stir again in the pit of Louis' stomach, but he wills himself to brush it away. This time was special, their first, and he wants nothing more than to spend the rest of the day simply wrapped up in Harry's arms.

"You're incredible," Louis replies, his voice still shaking as he comes down from his orgasm. He pulls his sticky hand from between their bodies, wiping it on the leg of his already soiled pyjamas before rolling off of Harry and tucking himself into the larger man's side.

They stare at each other for a moment, pupils blown and cheeks flushed, before Harry starts to giggle.

"What on earth... What's so funny?" Louis snaps, arched eyebrows knitting together.

"I just had sex with my boyfriend," Harry sing-songs, his face split into a dopey grin. “Well, hand sex.”

Louis just shakes his head, brushing a sweat damp curl out of Harry's face. "You're a ridiculous boy, and I am so, so very lucky."

Harry wrinkles his nose and jerks away from Louis' hand. "Lou, you're gonna get come in my hair," he whines, pouting.

Laughing, Louis rolls out of bed and stands up. "We probably both need to shower anyway, and I need to change." He indicates the damp spot clearly visible on the fabric of his pyjamas. "Someone made me make a mess."

Harry shrugs innocently, gesturing to the come drying on his stomach. "Just returning the favour," he replies cheekily. He ducks the balled up joggers that Louis chucks at him, still giggling as the older man slips down the hall to shower.

♠♥♣♦

The rest of the day is spent in lazy embraces, tender kisses, constant contact.

"You guys are gross," Zayn grumbles from the kitchen table, casting a side-eyed glare at the tangled bodies spread out on the couch. Louis is playing FIFA, Harry wrapped around him from behind and watching over his shoulder.

"You're just jealous," Louis shoots back, not bothering to look away from his game.

With a _hmmph,_ Zayn returns his attention to the homework he has spread over the kitchen table. The sound of a phone vibrating against wood makes the beautiful man jump, snatching his phone off the table like he thinks it might try to escape. As Zayn's expressive eyes sweep over the screen, his mouth twists upward into a brilliant smile.

Intrigued, Louis pauses his game and sits up, Harry whining in protest as Louis pulls out of his arms. "Who're you texting?" Louis asks innocently, the shit-eating grin on his face alluding to his suspicions.

Zayn's face flushes, dark eyelashes sweeping against his pinkened cheeks as he looks away. "Oh, just Liam," he replies, his honeyed voice coming out soft and warm.

"Oh, I see, just Liam," Louis replies, his mocking tone earning a giggle from Harry. "How long has this been going on?"

Zayn shrugs, flustered, typing a quick reply and setting his mobile back down. "I got his number at the match. He asked if we'd keep him updated on Harry, and we just kind of... kept texting." He stares off into space, looking incredibly pleased.

"Well, you can tell him that Harry is fine and currently basking in post-coital bliss," he chirps, earning a cry from Harry and a groan from Zayn.

"Louis, you can't just go around telling everybody," Harry says with a pout, digging his fingers into Louis' sides to tickle him.

Louis squirms away, grabbing Harry's wrists to keep the boy at bay. "What? It's just Zayn. I tell Zayn everything."

"No offense, mate, but he didn't have to. The walls aren't as thick as either of you seem to think they are," Zayn says glumly. His phone goes off again, Zayn's eyes immediately lighting back up.

Louis just shakes his head, flopping back down into Harry's arms and resuming his game. "If he thinks we're gross, he's got another thing coming when they finally get together," he mumbles quietly to Harry.

"Mmm," Harry hums, his breath warm against the shell of Louis' ear. "You could have another thing coming too, you know."

Louis finds it awfully hard to concentrate on his game after that.

♠♥♣♦

Louis is still on cloud nine as he strolls across campus the next day. He can't help but smile thinking of Harry, of the long lines of his body and his flawless, smooth skin and the way he sounds when he comes... _Not the time or place, Tommo,_ Louis scolds himself, not wanting to show up outside Harry's classroom with a semi.

Mondays are one of the days where they don't get a chance to see each other between classes, and the utter delight on Harry's face when he gets out of his lecture makes Louis' heart flutter.

"What are you doing here?" Harry cries, cutting through the crowded hallway to where Louis is leaned against the cinder block wall. "Don't you have class?"

"Canceled. Thought I'd surprise you. Want to grab lunch?" Louis asks, giving Harry what he hopes is a winning smile.

"Of course I do. How about the little cafe over by the student centre?" Harry suggests, nudging Louis with his hip.

Louis playfully nudges back. "Sounds good. I could really go for a hot mug of soup right now. It is getting far too cold for my taste." He runs a hand down Harry's jumper clad arm, tucking his hand into his boyfriend's larger one. "I need you to skip all of your classes and let me steal your body heat all the time, please."

Harry laughs at Louis, but slips his hand away at the same time. Louis frowns, ultimately deciding not to make a fuss, because Harry probably has his reasons and the middle of a bustling hallway is not the place to discuss them.

They walk to the cafe in silence, side by side, arms brushing against each other. Louis keeps stealing sideways glances at Harry, wants desperately to reach out and grab hold of his boyfriend's hand so that everyone they pass can see how much he cares for the curly-haired beanpole at his side.

Harry holds the cafe door open for Louis, and chimes ring merrily at their entrance. It's lunchtime so the place is packed, full of life and the smell of freshly baked bread. Harry makes a beeline for a table for two under one of the wide, sunny windows, shrugging off his coat and draping it over the back of the chair. Louis does the same before they take a place at the end of the queue.

The line isn't long but Louis already knows exactly what he wants to order, so he spends the wait turned to face his boyfriend. Harry's brows are bunched together as he stares up at the menu, lips parted as he silently reads along the list of items. He looks more like he's taking an exam than choosing something to eat.

Harry catches him staring, tilting his head down to meet Louis' admiring gaze. "What?" he asks, mouth quirking in amusement.

"Just thinking about how I haven't kissed you yet today," Louis says, only loud enough for Harry to hear.

Harry takes a step backward, face going blank and his eyes snapping back to the menu. "Later," he says tersely. He doesn't meet Louis' eyes again the entire time they're waiting to order.

They return to their table, each carrying a food-laden tray (Harry's also sporting a soup stain from where he tripped over a rug). Louis wraps his hands around the bowl in front of him, letting warmth seep into his cold hands and inhaling the fragrant aroma of nutmeg and squash. "Nothing like hot soup on a cold day," he sighs happily, picking up his soup spoon and trailing it through the thick orange broth.

"Mmm," Harry replies, picking at the crust of his sandwich. His forehead is lined, mouth drooping slightly at the corners.

"Everything all right?" Louis asks, concerned about Harry's sudden shift in mood, baffled at how drastically dour Harry is being when Louis has been minutes away from breaking out into song all day.

Harry's eyes snap up and he seems suddenly exhausted. Why hadn't Louis noticed how tired he looks? "Yeah, everything's fine," he says curtly, clipping his words. He finally bites into his sandwich, the plate littered with shreds of crust.

He can tell something's wrong, knows Harry isn't telling him everything. Louis may not have known the younger man long, but he knows Harry wears his heart on his sleeve and his feelings in his eyes, and right now those eyes are looking down at his sandwich like it personally canceled Christmas.

Louis sighs, raising his hand to massage at his temple. His fingers, warm from clutching his bowl of soup, feel good against the dull ache settling into his skull.

"Harry, babe, talk to me. Is this about yesterday? You could have told me if you weren't ready, we didn't have to—"

"No," Harry says quickly, accompanying the word with a firm shake of his head. "No, Louis, yesterday was... God, yesterday was amazing. Please don't ever think I would regret doing that with you." A faint blush has risen on Harry's face at the memory, and he looks away bashfully, dark lashes fluttering against the swell of his cheeks.

"Then why won't you let me touch you?" Louis asks softly. He's relieved, indescribably so, that Harry doesn't regret taking their relationship a step further. But something changed between the last time they were in public and now, something happened to make Harry look like the same lost boy he was in the coffee shop all those weeks ago, glancing around to make sure no one had seen Louis taking his hand, and— _oh._

"This is about the rugby match, isn't it," Louis says quietly, more of a statement than a question because he already knows the answer.

Harry's head drooping and the tiny sob that escapes his throat is all the confirmation Louis needs.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Louis croons, trying to be as comforting as he can without touching Harry, and fuck those guys at the rugby game, seriously, for making him have to tiptoe around his boyfriend. "We can ease off the PDA, all right?"

Harry doesn't meet his gaze but nods gratefully, unshed tears making his eyes shine.

"Good. Now that we have that settled," Louis says, bringing a spoonful of soup to his lips and blowing gently across the surface, "I want to hear about my lovely boyfriend's day."

♠♥♣♦

Not touching Harry in public is somewhat harder than Louis had counted on.

He hadn't realized how many times he rested a hand in the small of Harry's back as they walked, unthinkingly slipped his fingers between Harry's own, placed a splayed palm on Harry's well-muscled thigh. He's constantly catching himself reaching out, and honestly, it's exhausting.

Their friends have noticed it too, he's sure. At the very least Zayn has. Liam is too polite to say anything and Niall would have taken it up with Harry rather than Louis.

Good old Zayn, however, is perfectly happy to call Louis on his erratic behavior.

He takes the opportunity to do so one evening when the five friends are hanging out, crowded around a table at the pub Niall has dragged them to. The blond has absconded with Harry to the bar to fetch the next round, and Liam excuses himself to visit the restroom.

The second they're alone, Zayn steeples his fingers and peers at Louis over the top of them. "So."

"So," Louis repeats slowly, quirking an arched eyebrow.

Zayn scoffs and shakes his head, the metal hoops in his ears glinting in the dim light of the pub. "Don't play dumb, Louis, it doesn't suit you. What's going on with you and Harry?"

Louis blinks, feigning ignorance. "He's my boyfriend. I'm his boyfriend. We like to kiss a lot, sometimes just to annoy our flatmates." He gloats at the sour look that washes over Zayn's face.

"Yeah, I noticed last night while I was trying to do my revising," Zayn grumbles, turning his empty beer bottle in his elegant hands.

"Exactly. All good."

Zayn lets out a soft noise of frustration. "That's not what I meant, Louis, and you know it." He leans closer to Louis across the table. "You've barely looked at each other the entire time we've been out. Did you have a fight or something?" Zayn's almond-shaped eyes are large and probing, genuinely concerned for his friend.

Stupid, perceptive, wonderful Zayn. "It's nothing important, really," he says on an exhale, resting his chin on a propped up fist. "He's been a little spooked since, you know, the footie match," Louis explains.

Zayn nods, encouraging Louis to continue. He should have known Zayn wouldn't drop the conversation without the proper amount of detail.

Begrudgingly, Louis elaborates. "So he asked if we could cut back on the PDA, you know, so that doesn't happen again." The fingers of his free hand drum against the table, a surge of annoyance swelling in his chest. Not at Harry, but at the assholes who had driven the wedge between them.

Zayn is shaking his head again, slack jawed. "You didn't just cut back, mate. You act like you don't know each other. That can't be healthy for either of you. Or your relationship," he adds.

That's all he has time for, because in the next moment five full beers are filling the table, Harry and Niall sliding back into their seats. Liam returns from the toilet shortly after, taking a long pull of his beer and glancing around the circle of faces.

"Why'd everyone get so quiet all of a sudden? Something happen while I was gone?" Liam asks, his thick eyebrows pushed together in concern.

Harry looks curiously at Louis, having sensed the tension around the table as well. "Yeah, Lou, what's up?"

Zayn and Louis hold each other's gaze for just a moment before Louis has to look away, feeling suddenly guilty without fully understanding why. "It's nothing," he lies.

Harry isn't fully convinced, but he lets the matter slide, and Louis tries very, very hard not to be jealous watching his tipsy boyfriend sidle up to Niall and lean his head against the Irish man's shoulder.

If Harry notices Louis staring, hands clenching and unclenching against the lacquered table top, he doesn't say anything.

 ♠♥♣♦

Harry's lips are on Louis' the second they're safely ensconced in Louis' bedroom, the younger boy's panting mouth tasting strongly of beer. Louis tries and fails to match Harry's enthusiasm in returning the kiss, and Harry must notice because he pulls away.

"What's wrong?" the brunet man asks, eyes glinting with concern even in the darkness of the bedroom. His words are slurring thanks to Niall constantly supplying fresh beers for his flatmate.

"Nothing," Louis says, too quickly. _Shit._

"Nothing my ass. You've been giving me dirty looks all night. I'm not stupid, Louis," he says, the sharp edge to his voice making Louis wince.

Louis crosses his arms with a huff, slamming his body back against the door and away from Harry. "I just don't understand why it's okay for you to touch Niall in public and not me. Someone could just as easily call you names for that."

Harry goes rigid as Louis jerks away from him, hands falling to his sides and curling into fists. "It's different with him and you know it, Louis. He's straight." He sounds remarkably more sober now.

"So just because he isn't clearly a flaming homosexual, it's okay to be all over him in public instead of your own boyfriend," Louis snaps, his face feeling hot. He reaches an arm up to slam on the light switch, needing to see Harry's face while he makes his excuses.

Harry blinks against the assault on his eyes but doesn't back down, his jaw set and shoulders lifted tensely. "Yes, because people don't make assumptions about me with him! They just see two bros having a laugh, not someone seconds away from snogging his boyfriend!" He rakes a hand through his hair, the other hand clenched so tightly by his side that the knuckles have gone white. "I don't know what your fucking problem is. You said this was okay. You agreed to give me space."

Louis slams a palm into the door, the smack stinging his skin and resounding loudly against the wood. "Not space to flirt with straight guys right under my fucking nose!" He's yelling now, tears of frustration stinging the corners of his eyes, but he's just so damn _mad._ He sucks in a breath, forcing his voice lower and trying to keep it from shaking. "You can't just ignore me in public and then jump me when we're behind closed doors, Harry. I'm getting whiplash going from zero to sixty and then having to slam on the brakes the second someone else is around."

"Whatever, Louis. I'm just gonna go." He tries to shoulder past the smaller man, but Louis holds his ground in front of the door. "Jealous of Niall, for fuck's sake."

Louis pinches the bridge of his nose and reaches out, clutching the side of Harry's hoodie in his fist. "Harry, stop." He doesn't want to have this fight right now, too drunk and tired and just needing to touch his boyfriend after a day of keeping him at arm's length. "I'm sorry, okay? It just sucks seeing other people get to touch you when I can't."

Harry stares hard at Louis for a moment before his eyes soften, his shoulders falling and the tense lines around his mouth easing away. "I'm sorry too," he says finally, closing the distance between them and pressing his face against Louis' neck.

Louis' arms fold around his boyfriend of their own accord, tugging him close as he deeply inhales Harry's scent. It's something musky and sweet all at once, tonight heavily accented with the smell of alcohol.

"Can we just go to bed?" Harry pleads plaintively, the taller man seeming impossibly small in the shelter of Louis' arms.

"Of course we can, love," Louis murmurs into Harry's hair, followed by a reassuring kiss. Louis pulls one hand away to switch the lights back off, guiding Harry toward the bed without breaking contact.

He eases his boyfriend down on the edge of the bed, unwrapping his arms from Harry despite the younger man's whine of protest. Louis tugs Harry's hoodie and undershirt off of his head in one go, Harry holding his arms up to help once he realizes Louis' intentions. Once the articles of clothing are tossed aside, Louis shrugs out of his own jacket and pulls off the jumper underneath.

Harry's gotten out of his trousers by the time Louis turns back to the bed, and the younger man lunges for the button of Louis' jeans. "Need to touch you," he gasps, peering up at Louis underneath the fan of his lashes.

"Shit, Harry," Louis gasps as Harry tugs open the button and yanks down the zipper of the fly. "We don't have to, babe, we can just—"

"Want to," Harry insists, tugging at Louis' belt loops until the jeans fall away from his hips, exposing his pants. Harry slips a hand into the waistband of the briefs, wrapping his large hand around Louis' half hard cock for the first time.

"Holy shit, Harry," Louis moans, his hips thrusting into Harry's hand. Harry's touch is uncertain, slow, but the alcohol in his system seems to have emboldened him as he begins to slowly stroke Louis until the older man is fully hard.

Louis tugs his pants down, allowing Harry better access to his cock, gasping at the contrast between the cool air of the bedroom and the heat emanating from Harry's palm.

Harry reaches his other hand around Louis, pressing into his lower back to coax Louis down onto the bed. Louis obliges, nearly whimpering when Harry releases his cock so they can situate themselves among the tangle of sheets and blankets. Louis ends up on his back, Harry pressed to his side. The curly-haired man props himself up with one arm and reclaims Louis' erection with the other hand.

"Is this okay?" Harry asks, gently working his hand up and down Louis' length.

Louis turns his head, his eyes finding Harry's. "Yeah, babe, it's great. Just do what you like to do to yourself, okay?" He groans, shuddering as Harry's thumb bushes across the head in a testing swipe. "God."

His noises seem to encourage the inexperienced man, so he makes sure to be vocal as Harry slowly brings him closer to the edge, asking for more pressure and not that much and faster, please and—

"Fucking hell," Louis gasps, snapping his hips up in time with Harry's strokes. Harry seems to get the hint, speeding up, matching Louis' pace and urging it even faster. Harry's lips are on Louis' and his tongue is fucking into his mouth, and that's enough to send Louis over the edge. His vision goes white as the ball of heat in his belly bursts, come spilling over Harry's large hand and onto Louis' heaving chest.

When Louis can finally focus his eyes, he's met with a vision of Harry lifting his messy hand to his mouth, his tongue flicking out to test the spots of come streaking his knuckles. Louis' dick twitches in interest at the sight of Harry tasting his come, knowing that it's the first time the younger man has ever done so.

"That was so good, babe," Louis says hoarsely, pulling Harry down for a slow, sensual kiss, opening the other man's mouth with his tongue and licking inside.

"Does it make up for me not touching you all day?" Harry murmurs against Louis' parted lips. His long fingers drag slowly along Louis' bare side.

Louis shivers at the teasing touch. "Ung. Yes. I think I can handle it if this is what is waiting for me at home." He pauses for a moment, thinking about what he just said. "Not that you owe me anything for respecting your boundaries, shit, I didn't mean that."

Harry chuckles low in his throat. "I know what you meant." He kisses the tip of Louis' nose tenderly, the sheer affection behind the gesture making Louis' toes curl.

He turns on his side to face Harry, trailing his fingers over the pale, sculpted pecs, barely brushing against a nipple on the way down to the crisp trail of hair leading into the pants that Harry is (unfortunately) still wearing. "Let me return the favour?" he asks, dipping his fingers under the band suggestively.

Harry grabs Louis' hand and brings it up to his mouth, kissing against his palm. "You don't need to," he admits, sucking his lower lip into his mouth. "I, erm, already came."

Louis blinks, dropping his gaze to Harry's red briefs, taking in the wetness soaking into the front of them. "You got off just getting me off?" he asks, awed.

His boyfriend chuckles, sounding a little embarrassed as he presses a kiss against Louis' temple. "I don't think you realize the effect you have on me, Louis." His eyes flutter closed. "Just seeing you like that, hearing the noises you were making for me and knowing that I was responsible..." Harry shivers, eyes drifting back open and fixing on Louis with a hot stare. "You're amazing."

"You're not so bad yourself," Louis murmurs in reply, eyelids suddenly feeling quite heavy. He's sleepy and sated, a gorgeous boy snug against his side, and—at the moment—that's so much more important than holding Harry's hand in public.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for everyone who has read this so far!! Your comments and kudos mean the world to me. I am incredibly grateful you're enjoying my silly little story. =)
> 
> The post for this story can be found [here](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com/post/116842926296/both-showing-hearts-by-kiwikero-icanhazzalou)! Have a lovely day, and see you next Sunday!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow, chapter five already! We're halfway there, folks! And, even more exciting, I've officially started writing chapter ten! 
> 
> As always, I couldn't do this without the help of my beta and cheerleader, [Sarah](http://letstalkaboutharrybuns.tumblr.com). She's awesome. For reals. Thanks to Bash for helping to edit as well, and to Vikki and Hannah for answering my endless stream of questions about British English.
> 
> Song for this chapter: "Satellite" - ZOX. The spotify playlist for the entire story can be found [here](https://play.spotify.com/user/12159569080/playlist/3sb6QE1bNKN5z3n8pLc6G7).

Louis has never been so afraid of Zayn in his entire life.

"LOUIS! Where the fuck is my phone?" the enraged man yells, stamping down the hallway.

Louis has barricaded himself in the bathroom with the door locked behind him, the few centimetres of wood keeping him safe for the time being. He’s perched on the vanity, kicking his heels against the wooden cabinet door.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Louis calls back through the closed door, the aforementioned mobile in his hands. He grins down at it, swiping his fingertip across the rows of dots as he tries to guess Zayn's passcode. He gets it on the third try.

There’s a loud _thunk_ against the other side of the door that nearly startles Louis into dropping the purloined device. "Louis, this isn't funny. Give me my phone."

"I don't have it. Did you leave it in the Resource Centre again?" Louis gleefully opens up Zayn's text messages, looking for Liam's name. It's the top conversation, of course.

"No! I had it before I went out to smoke and now it's gone! I know you have it!" Zayn jiggles the knob, slamming his shoulder against the door. "Louis, please, please give me my phone," he pleads desperately.

There’s a new sound from further down the hallway, a door closing and a familiar gait ambling down the hallway. "What's going on?" Harry's voice says distantly.

"Your arse of a boyfriend has made off with my mobile and is doing god knows what with it," Zayn's voice replies hotly.

"Hi, babe!" Louis calls cheerfully, tapping out a message to Liam. He takes special care not to read any of the existing messages. He’s not a total arse, after all.

"You deal with him,” he hears Zayn address Harry with snarl, “and when he opens that door, you kiss him goodbye because I am going to murder him." Zayn's voice gets further away, still cursing Louis without restraint as it recedes.

He hears the sound of a body sliding down the door, assuming Harry is leaning with his back against the other side. "So what are you texting Liam?" Harry asks, sounding exasperated, like a parent picking up their child from the headteacher's office.

"Nothing too scandalous. I'm just tired of watching the two of them pine over each other." Louis presses the send button, pleased with his work. "I'm giving them a little push, that's all."

"Well, I'm sure Zayn will bring Liam as his date to your funeral," Harry replies solemnly.

Louis can't help but laugh. Mission accomplished, he hops down from the vanity and unlocks the door. When he opens it, Harry falls into the doorway, looking up at Louis from where he's sprawled on his back, half in and half out of the bathroom. "Hi," he says, grinning.

"Hi yourself," Louis replies, stepping over Harry before reaching down to pull the younger man to his feet.

Harry's eyes settle on Louis' other hand, the missing phone in plain sight. "So,” he asks cautiously, as if he’s afraid of the answer, “what did you say?"

Louis tosses the mobile from hand to hand, smirking. "Oh, I just implied that you and I would be out of the flat tonight, and Zayn would very much like to have Liam 'round for pizza and a movie." He doesn't even bother trying to hide how pleased with himself he is. Harry’s answering eye roll is more fond than annoyed.

Louis glances down at his boyfriend’s feet, checking that he still has his shoes on. "You didn't bring anything with you, did you?" Louis asks as he slips past Zayn's closed door to the living room, pulling on a pair of TOMS and grabbing his hoodie.

"Nope, dropped off my bag before I came over. Why?" Harry asks with a tilt of his head, wondering exactly what his boyfriend is getting up to.

Still grinning slyly, Louis tiptoes over to Zayn's door, hand resting on the knob. He counts down from three on his fingers before opening the door a crack and tossing the stolen mobile inside, quickly pulling the door closed again after.

"Run!" he yells giddily, grabbing hold of a wild-eyed Harry and dragging him out the front door of the flat just as Zayn comes flying out of his room. The pair of boys dash down the stairs, taking them two at a time, both panting by the time they reach the bottom.

"That... was amazing," Harry gasps, doubled over to catch his breath.

Louis rests a hand on the swell of his stomach, sucking in air between his giggles. "Yeah, well, I may have to kip with you and Nialler ‘til he forgives me, but it was definitely worth it."

Still chuckling, they exit the block of flats into the hazy November day, the sun low in the pink stained sky as evening approaches.

Harry takes a few steps and stops, turning to look at Louis. "What's next in your cunning plan, then?"

"We go out to dinner and then back to your place. We haven't annoyed Niall nearly enough this week." Louis takes off walking, a grinning Harry easily keeping up with his long strides. They don't make it twenty paces from the building when Louis' mobile starts receiving texts at an alarming rate.

_i can't believe u texted him u fucking prick_

_i am seriously going to murder u louis_

_shit shit shit he just texted me back_

_ok well ur lucky bcuz he actually wants to come over_

_holy shit liam is coming over_

_i love u, u prick. still may murder you later aha_

Louis shows Harry the string of texts, both of them dissolving in a fit of laughter. "He'll thank me later," Louis says, once he's calmed down.

"Or he'll kill you in your sleep tomorrow night, in which case I get your laptop and all of your CDs," Harry replies cheekily, bumping his arm affectionately against Louis'.

The simple contact has Louis' face lighting up. It isn't much, but Harry is slowly allowing himself to touch Louis in public again. They haven't held hands or hugged or anything like that, but Louis thinks just being able to feel the warmth of Harry's body next to his own is a great start.

♠♥♣♦

When Louis cautiously unlocks the door to their flat the next morning, needing to change and grab his bag before class, he's very pleased that Zayn isn't waiting to attack him just inside the threshold.

Zayn's bedroom door is closed, actually. _Hmmm._ Stepping carefully around the flat, Louis avoids the floorboards known to creak the most as he tries to piece together Liam and Zayn's night together.

Empty pizza box on the counter: that part went according to plan. Several beer bottles on the table, enough for two people, but they could be old or Zayn could have been drowning his sorrows after Liam broke his heart. No extra shoes by the door... Does Liam keep his shoes on indoors?

That leads to Louis wondering if Liam leaves his shoes on during other activities, and that is not something he’s going to allow himself to picture. Resigning himself to not knowing Zayn's fate (but really, really hoping he’s curled up in bed with his objet d'amour), Louis gathers his things for his lectures and slips back out the door.

 _Hope you had a good night!_ He sends off the text to Zayn on his way to class, thinking twice and deleting the rather rude string of emojis he had tacked on at the end. He doesn’t imagine Zayn will fully appreciate his creative combination of the aubergine and tongue emojis anyway.

When Louis shows up for his shift at the Resource Centre later that afternoon, Zayn is sat at the front desk, looking even more brooding and mysterious than usual. He half-heartedly raises his eyebrows as Louis drags a chair over from the study table, joining Zayn behind the desk.

Louis doesn't say anything, just fixes Zayn with an expectant stare, grin wide and somewhat manic.

"What do you want, Louis?" Zayn asks tiredly.

"I just wanted to know how last night went," Louis replies innocently, batting his long lashes at his flatmate.

With a roll of his brandy-coloured eyes, Zayn brushes his floppy black bangs away from his face. "Nothing happened, if that's what you're after. We ate pizza and drank beer and played video games." Zayn sighs, pressing his fingers to his forehead and shaking his head. "He's either not into me, or perfectly oblivious, and I'm not sure which one's worse if I'm honest."

"Did you, y'know, tell him you're interested? Make a pass at him? Give him one of your smouldering looks that makes everyone swoon?" Louis prods, desperate for more information on his little relationship coup. He feigns a swoon for comedic effect.

Zayn is not amused. "Erm, no, but I like... Asked him about himself? And opened his beer for him? And I let him win at Mario Kart," his flatmate replies lamely.

Louis' head tilts to one side as he studies Zayn incredulously. "So you've been hitting on me all these years," he says blandly. "Wow, Zayn, I had no idea you felt that way about me."

Scoffing, Zayn punches Louis in the arm, unbothered by the resulting squawk the shorter man emits. "You're an arse. Besides, I've never let you win at Mario Kart."

Louis dodges a second punch, sneering cheekily at his best friend. "No, you're right. I always beat you all on my own."

He isn't fast enough to duck this time, and Zayn gets him in a headlock, digging his knuckles into Louis' scalp. Louis cries out in protest and tries to squirm out of Zayn's grasp, settling on tickling him in retaliation when he can’t escape, until Nick threatens to kick the pair of them out of the Centre if they can't behave.

♠♥♣♦

"I don't want you to go," Louis whines, his head pillowed in Harry's lap.

The younger boy is idly stroking Louis' hair with his left hand, the other flipping through the textbook beside him on the bed.

"It's only a month, babe. You went twenty whole years without me and were just fine," Harry says flatly, not glancing away from his schoolwork. It’s not that Harry isn't going to miss Louis. It's just that this might be the tenth time they've had this conversation today. December has snuck up on them faster than either boy had expected, and now it’s only a week and a half until winter hols. And god, when did Louis become so damn clingy? He was perfectly happy to drift through his days solo, but now the thought of a month without his curly companion has his heart hiding out somewhere in the pit of his belly, near his spleen. _Is that where spleens are? Anyway._

"I didn't know what I was missing then," Louis mumbles, thoughts of spleens aside. He catches Harry's hand and pulls it down to his mouth, kissing the pad of each finger reverently.

"You're such a sap. How did I end up with such a sappy boyfriend?" Harry rolls his eyes in mock annoyance, but his smile says otherwise. "I thought you were cool."

"I am cool!" Louis protests as he rolls to his side and presses his face into Harry's stomach. He nips at Harry's abs through the thin material of his t-shirt, making Harry cry out in protest and swat at him.

"Lou, babe, I have got to get this homework done," Harry moans, ducking to press a kiss to Louis' temple. "Let me finish and we can do whatever you want tonight, okay? Anything," he pleads.

Intrigued, Louis springs into a sitting position, stroking at the light stubble coating his chin. "Anything?" he wonders aloud, a devilish gleam in his eye. "Hmmm...."

"I'm going to regret saying that," his boyfriend mumbles as he marks something in his notes.

 _What can I get Harry to do? Where is somewhere that he'll feel comfortable enough to let loose?_ It dawns on Louis what the perfect night out would be, can’t believe that he didn’t think of it sooner. "Let's go dancing!" he says, clasping his hands together under his chin.

"Absolutely not!" Harry protests, looking offended that Louis would even suggest such a thing.

"Harry. You said anything. I want to go dancing." Louis pokes out his bottom lip in the most ridiculous pout he can manage, his blue eyes large and imploring. "Pleeease, H?"

Harry sighs, leaning over to nip at Louis' protruding lip before planting a sweet kiss on the older man's irresistible moue. "All right,” he concedes, “we can go dancing. But only if you actually let me get my homework done."

Louis chases his boyfriend’s lips, stealing one more quick kiss before Harry returns to his notes. "I'll be on my best behaviour," Louis promises, pulling out his mobile and sending a group text.

_We're going out tonight ! No excuses !!_

♠♥♣♦ 

The White Swallow is packed by the time Harry and Louis arrive. With the term winding down, students are scrambling to spend time with each other before the month-long break, and tonight it seems they’re out in droves. That's partly how Louis convinces Niall to come along as well (that and the promise of a pint or two), and he hopes Zayn was able to work his magic on Liam.

Inside, Zayn has snagged them a booth, the high top tables they usually prefer too small for their growing group of friends. So far he and Niall are the only ones waiting, sitting on opposite sides of the table and each nursing a beer.

Louis slides in next to Niall, Harry close behind, so that it's the three of them on one side and Zayn alone on the other. "Hello, lads!" Louis calls, affectionately ruffling Niall's dyed blond hair, but Niall manages to keep drinking without spilling so much as a drop.

Blinking bewilderedly, Zayn looks between the trio across from him. "I feel like I'm about to be interrogated, or something," he says, mouth quirked up into a half smile.  

Harry and Niall laugh on either side of Louis, but the man in the middle leans over the table, elbows down and chin propped on his intertwined fingers. "Ooh, what a great idea. Zaynie, what are your intentions with one Liam Payne?"

"Oh, fuck off," Zayn mutters, kicking at Louis underneath the booth. "I told you, I don't even know if he's into blokes."

"You still haven't asked him?" Harry asks gently, a hand finding Louis' thigh underneath the table, fingers pressing into the muscle as if to say, _give Zayn a break._

Zayn shrugs. "It hasn't exactly come up in conversation. 'Hey, let's play some FIFA and by the way, which way do you swing?'” He snorts derisively. “We've only just started proper hanging out one on one."

"You're welcome," Louis interjects, covering Harry's larger hand with his own and squeezing gently, over the moon that his boyfriend is touching him in a public place. It’s one of the reasons he wanted to come here tonight; he knows Harry feels comfortable enough in a predominantly LGBTQ environment to let down his walls. Of course, Louis isn’t going to push. It’s up to Harry to make the first move. Harry’s comfort is, and always will be, the most important thing.

"Personally, man, I think you should just be honest with him," Niall chimes in, setting his now empty glass down on the table. The other three men turn to regard him with curious eyes, not used to Niall joining their conversations about relationships. He must notice their surprise because he shrugs, looking from face to face. "What I mean is, I'm straight as an arrow, but if I were ever going to try anything with a guy, it would be Zayn." He grins apologetically. "Sorry, mate, but even I can see that you're pretty fit."

Harry and Louis both collapse onto each other, bodies shaking with laughter. Louis' is high and bleating, punctuated with Harry's staccato barks. Zayn just sits across from them, his mouth opening and closing like a startled fish.

"Hey, lads, what'd I miss?" A smooth voice asks, stilling Harry and Louis' chortling almost immediately.

Liam has found his way to their table, smiling shyly at the four boys staring up at him. The fifth member of their little group slides into the seat next to Zayn, unbothered by the silence that greets him.

Liam’s short hair is pushed back and to one side with gel, and Louis notes that he's never seen Liam style it before. He's a little overdressed for a night at a gay club, but his black button down and neatly pressed slacks are drawing more than a few interested glances from nearby tables.

"Not much, glad you made it," Zayn says, holding out a fist to Liam, who bumps his own against it.

"Wouldn't miss it. I love hanging out with you lot," Liam replies, his voice sincere. "Are we celebrating anything in particular?"

Zayn seems to flush as Liam’s eyes come to rest on him, though it's impossible to tell in the coloured lighting of the club. Still, Louis tosses his flatmate a wink as he says, "Erm, Harry finished his homework.”

"Oh. Well done, then." Liam looks a little confused, but doesn't press the subject. Bless him.

Harry and Liam fetch another round of drinks for their table, making it back just as the show is starting. Louis happily sips on his Mama-licious (pleased that Harry remembered the extra grenadine, despite Louis only having mentioned that to him once before) and attempts to ignore Niall loudly mocking his drink of choice (“I’m sorry, mate, but that’s a girly drink if I ever saw one!” “Drinks don’t have genders, Niall!”).

The drag show is as good as ever, with a few out-of-town performers that Louis has never seen before, as well as some of his favourites. He spends a good portion of the show sneaking glances at Liam and Zayn, his flatmate whispering into the brunet man's ear different things about the performers and how they accomplish parts of their ensemble, such as creating cleavage. "You really do use duct tape?" Liam gasps after one such titbit, pun intended.

Harry is leaned into Louis' side, one of Louis' arms securely around his broad shoulders. The younger man watches the show with fascination, sipping at some red and orange cocktail as his eyes track the movements of the performers.

"Like this better than the one on campus?" Louis whispers, purposely letting his lips brush against Harry's ear.

Harry shivers at the sensation of Louis' mouth on his skin. "It's just damn impressive. They're all such great entertainers," Harry says, watching a queen called Lacy Drawers do a cartwheel across the stage, curly red wig streaming behind her. He turns to meet Louis' eyes. "I'd still take you and Zayn—er, Veronica—any day, though." He tips his head toward the stage. "Have either of you ever thought of performing here? I think you'd smash it."

Louis chuckles, closing the distance between their faces to press a kiss to Harry's smooth cheek. "I'd make a terrible queen, love, and showing up in a sequined suit isn't exactly high-calibre enough for this club. And Zayn, as amazing as his Veronica is, doesn't love drag enough to do it all the time."

Zayn must catch their conversation, because he leans over the table and adds, "I couldn't be bothered to shave often enough to perform every week," he says, stroking the neatly groomed hair covering his jawline. "I thought this took forever to grow back, but let me tell you, my armpits didn't look right for a month."

"You didn't have to actually shave your bloody pits," Louis mutters, the sound lost among the beat of the music and Harry's guffaws.

When it's time to hit the dance floor, no one at the table seems very willing to move.

"I thought you wanted to dance?" Niall asks, ruddy-cheeked and slightly inebriated. Louis is suitably impressed by the Irishman's tolerance given the number of empty pint glasses surrounding him.

"I've never gone dancing," Harry says shyly, the same time as Louis replies, "I've never danced with Harry."

Louis rounds on his boyfriend. "You've never gone dancing? What on Earth did you do for fun back home?"

"I read a lot. There was dancing in some of the books?" Harry tries helpfully.

Shoving Harry out of the booth, Louis scoffs. "You are the most hopeless lad I've ever met. Come on, then."

The five of them pile out onto the dance floor, finding an area somewhat clear of the mass of writhing, sweaty bodies. The very end of Miley Cyrus' "Party in the USA" is blaring from the speakers, the crowd bouncing along with the uptempo beat.

"How do you dance to this?" Liam asks, looking around at the other patrons, seeming even more out of place than he had at the table.

"Just wait," Zayn says, a comforting hand finding its way to Liam's arm, neither of them looking terribly displeased when the crush of bodies jostles them closer together.

Sure enough, as the Miley tune fades out it's replaced by a hip hop song, the bass strong and pulsing. "Let me do the work," Louis tells Harry, placing Harry's large hands over his hips and backing his bum into his boyfriend's crotch. He's very aware of the other boys watching him as he starts to move his body in time with the music, grinding up against Harry as he dances. He tilts his head back, leaning into the firm chest behind him. "Just move with me, yeah? Nothing to it."

Harry tightens his grip on Louis' waist, timidly swaying along with the smaller man's movements. As the song plays and the other boys start dancing on their own, Harry gets braver. He ducks his head to kiss along Louis' neck as they grind together, pulling Louis' body tightly against his own.

When the current song ends, replaced by another hip hop song with suggestive lyrics, seemingly about blow jobs, Harry gives no indication that he wants to retreat to the table.

Louis spins his body to face his boy, slotting a leg between Harry's and grinding against the younger man's thigh. His arms find their way around Harry’s neck, his lips drawn to an exposed bit of skin along his boyfriend's collarbones. By now both boys have worked up a sheen of sweat, the packed mass of constantly moving bodies pressing in and the pace of their own dancing seeming to set the air around them ablaze.

Louis' fringe is sticking to his damp forehead, Harry's hands unbelievably warm against his tingling skin. He feels one of those hands leave his hip and reach down to firmly cup his arse, hauling their bodies even closer together. Harry's erection strains against the tight fabric of his jeans, and Louis feels himself growing more aroused every time Harry presses a thigh up against Louis' groin, the way Harry's large hand is cupping his backside supplying his brain with all manners of indecent thoughts.

Louis pulls away reluctantly, smiling sheepishly at the confusion flitting across Harry's features. "If we don't take a break, I'm going to need a change of pants," Louis admits, gesturing to the noticeable bulge in his trousers. "And you're too nice a boy for me to take to the toilets for a quickie."

Harry laughs, brushing a sweaty curl away from his face. "Well, as long as you make it up to me later," he says with a wink. He tilts his chin up over the mob, eyes searching the multitude of faces for three familiar ones. "I wonder where the other lads have gotten off to?"

That is a very good question, actually. Louis’ been so lost in his own world, focusing on little else than the music and the boy pressed close to him, that he hasn't seen the other lads since they started dancing. He stands on his tip toes, trying to spot them over the crowd.

"Found Niall," Harry reports, tugging on Louis' hand. He tows the older man to the side of the dance floor, pointing to a group off to the side.

Gathered around one of the club's larger tables bedecked with oblong white balloons, is a large group of women. All of them are wearing sashes and various hats, one in some sort of tiara, and smack dab in the middle of it all is Niall.

"Oh my god, he's crashed a hen do," Louis says in disbelief. Harry just looks on silently, mouth hanging open.

Sure enough, the innocent balloons, upon closer inspection, are actually inflated condoms.

The lady who Louis assumes is the bride-to-be is wearing a tiara made of plastic willies, and one of the other women is shooting alcohol into Niall's mouth from a water gun shaped like a penis.

"Who has their bachelorette party at a gay bar?" Harry asks incredulously, watching the ladies fawn over his inebriated flatmate.

"There's usually one here once a month at least," Louis tells him, trying not to giggle as Niall dons his own tiara and takes the water gun, squirting it at people around the table with a cheer.

"Seems kind of strange to flaunt your upcoming marriage around a group of people who can't legally marry in the majority of the world," Harry says glumly, a complete turnaround from his mood on the dance floor.

 _Huh._ Louis has never thought of it that way before.

"Come on, he's not going anywhere, let's go find Zayn and Liam." Louis slips his hand into Harry's, squeezing it gently, before tugging him back through the crowd.

They find Liam alone in their booth, sipping from a paper cup from the water cooler by the bar. He's tapping away at his phone but glances up when the couple joins him at the table.

"Hey, Liam. Where's Zayn?" Harry inquires.

Liam's smile falters for just a moment. "Oh, he went out for a smoke. Figured I'd hold down the fort." His eyes flick between the sweaty men in front of him. "Did you guys have fun? I think we might have lost Niall."

Laughing, Harry and Louis recount the tale of finding Niall and the current company he’s in.

"Leave it to him to find the straight girls at a gay club," Harry says, shaking his head fondly.

Not really knowing what else to say, all three boys turn to their phones, a welcome distraction from the awkward air pervading their booth. To Louis’ surprise, he has a text from Zayn in his inbox from about ten minutes prior.

_can u come outside?_

_On my way,_ he replies, returning his mobile to his pocket. "Right, I'm going to go for a wee. Should I grab another round while I'm up?" Louis asks, standing and placing his palms flat on the table.

Liam lifts his paper cup. "I think I'll stick to water, thanks. Need to sober up some. I drove here, and I'd be happy to give you all a lift home if you'd like."

Louis smiles gratefully at Liam. Whatever is going to happen between him and Zayn, he’s very happy that Liam has merged so seamlessly with their ragtag little group. "Sounds good, mate. Harry?"

"Another one of those orangey-red things?" Harry asks hopefully, a cheesy grin plastered across his face, shadows pooling in the dimple on his cheek.

"I'll do my best, you ridiculous boy." With one more kiss to Harry's forehead, Louis winds his way through the masses toward the bar. Instead of taking a left into the toilets, however, he slips out of the door leading to the smoking patio.

He finds Zayn leaning against the fence surrounding the patio, cigarette tucked between his full lips. The lit end of the cigarette glows brightly in the low light of the night. It's fairly chilly out so the smoking area isn't very crowded, Louis and Zayn having one corner all to themselves. Louis' breath is visible in the air as he exhales, mingling with the cloud of smoke trailing from Zayn's mouth.

"What's up?" Louis asks, taking a spot next to his flatmate against the cool metal fencing surrounding the patio.

Plucking the cigarette from his mouth, Zayn flicks away the ashes clinging to the end. "I think it's safe to say that Liam likes men," he says, his silky voice barely above a whisper.

Louis' eyebrows shoot clear up to his hairline. "Wait, what? How do you know?"

Zayn meets Louis' gaze for the first time, looking so downtrodden and forlorn that Louis can barely resist pulling the other man in for a cuddle. "He was checking another guy out, like, while we were dancing," Zayn replies. He takes another drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out against the fence.

Louis' eyes follow the butt as Zayn flicks it away through the bars. "Wow. Well, isn't that good news?" He shivers a little despite himself, wishing he had thought to grab his jacket. Of course, then he would have had to tell the others where he was going.

"He wasn't checking me out," Zayn replies sadly. "I don't reckon he thinks of me that way."

"Maybe that's because he doesn't think you feel that way," Louis suggests, reaching up to squeeze Zayn's boney shoulder. "He might be too afraid to try anything with you since you're friends."

With a shrug, Zayn jostles Louis' hand away. "And I shouldn't try anything either. What we've got is good, yeah?” He shakes his head, a lock of hair falling from his quiff and onto his lined forehead. “If I make things awkward with Liam, the whole group will suffer."

"Zayn..." Louis says softly, heart breaking for the man in front of him.

Zayn puts on a cool, collected front for most people, but he's never been afraid to let his guard down around Louis. And it’s down now, the sensitive, insecure Zayn Malik peering through the cracks in his seemingly flawless exterior. Louis has never seen Zayn quite this morose, and frankly never wants to again.

"At the end of the day, we all just want you to be happy. Just don't write it off yet, okay?" Louis says firmly, lifting Zayn's chin so the other man has to look him in the eye.

"Yeah, whatever you say, Lou." Zayn reaches out and gently squeezes Louis' bicep. "We should probably get back inside, yeah? They're going to think we've gone off and left them."

"I don't think Niall would mind," Louis muses, filling Zayn in on the blond's exploits on the way back into the bar.

After Louis, Zayn, and Harry finish their last drinks, they decide it's time to go home. It's still fairly early, but it’s a weeknight and the threat of early morning lectures looms over all their heads. As they're preparing to leave, Niall wanders back over to the table, penis tiara sitting jauntily atop his messy hair.

"Lads! What did I miss?" the Irish boy crows, the other four pouring out of the booth and pulling on their coats.

"I think we should be asking you that question!" Zayn laughs, reaching up to flick at one of the plastic dicks adorning Niall's headpiece.

Niall grins, shrugging helplessly. "What can I say? I know how to have a good time." He reaches out both arms, clasping Louis and Zayn each by one shoulder. "I am more than happy to come here with you guys anytime. You never told me there'd be straight girls!"

The group steps out of the thick, damp heat of the club and into the chilly December air.

Liam leads the way to his car, a sensible sedan made sometime in the last decade, and all five pile in. No one makes any move to fight Zayn for the front seat, Harry, Niall, and Louis squeezing into the back without fanfare. Louis isn't sure how he ends up with the middle seat, refusing to admit it’s due to having the shortest legs despite being the oldest.

"All right, you'll have to give me directions. Where to first?" Liam asks, buckling his seatbelt and dutifully checking to make sure everyone else has as well.

"I'll just go to Lou and Zayn's, if that's all right with you?" Harry says, his voice sounding thick and sleepy.

Louis nods. "'Course. You can take us there first, Liam. Turn right up here."

By the time Liam pulls up in front of Zayn and Louis' flat, Louis has a snoring first year asleep on each shoulder. He looks between them helplessly as the two men in the front seat giggle, Liam from the rearview mirror and Zayn turning in his seat to look at them. Zayn pulls out his mobile and snaps a picture, mouthing ‘blackmail’ with a sneaky grin on his face.

Louis turns his head to the side with Harry on it, nuzzling into his boyfriend's curls and kissing his forehead. "Wake up, baby. Let's get you to bed."

With a pitiful whine, Harry attempts to burrow further into Louis' side.

Louis shifts his attention to the blond on his other side, leaning down just in time to hear Niall mutter, "Don't fucking kiss me.”

"Wouldn't dream of it, mate,” Louis says, biting back a laugh. “Would you like to crash on our couch tonight? Save Liam a trip across campus?"

"Oh, it's no trouble, really," Liam insists, big brown eyes still watching them from the rearview.

"Yeah, think I will, thanks." Niall sits up and stretches, yawning obnoxiously loud in the enclosed space of the car.

Harry reaches across Louis to slap at Niall, making shhh noises into Louis' bicep, trying desperately to cling to sleep a while longer.

Unable to repress his laughter anymore, Louis lets a giggle slip and gently nudges Harry into a sitting position. "Harry, love, come on. Let's get you to bed, yeah?"

"Okayyy," Harry says, sleepily forming his lips into an exaggerated pout.

The two boys in the front must realize Louis is trapped between what amounts to a pair of drunken five year-olds, because they climb out and open up the back doors, Zayn tugging Harry out of the car and Liam pulling Niall to his feet.

"I'll help you lot upstairs," Liam says, putting Niall's arm around his shoulders so he can help the younger man walk. Louis takes his sleepy boyfriend from Zayn, who goes ahead to hold open the front door.

They make it up the stairs with minor incident, Louis accidentally running Harry into a corner or two. Zayn wrestles the door open and leads the way inside, flicking on the light just past the entry.

"Why would you do that?" Niall moans, he and Harry both shielding their eyes against the sudden brightness.

Louis rolls his eyes, leading Harry down the hallway as Liam lowers Niall onto the sofa.

Harry is no help whatsoever when Louis finally gets him into bed. He struggles to strip Harry of his shirt and skin-tight jeans, leaving the brunet only in his boxer briefs. "Harry, do you want something else to sleep in?" Louis murmurs, figuring he already knows the answer.

"'m good," Harry replies, syllables slurred in a mixture of drunkenness and sleep. He flops over where he sits, and Louis chuckles to himself as he tucks the duvet around his boyfriend's long frame.

"My ridiculous boy," he says, planting a kiss against Harry's temple. "I'm going to make sure Niall gets settled okay, and then I'll be right back."

In the living room, Liam is tugging off Niall's shoes while Zayn attempts to lift the boy's head long enough to stick a pillow underneath it. Finally succeeding, sort of, he tucks a spare blanket around the blond, Niall already snoring loudly.

"Freshers, I swear," Zayn remarks quietly, shaking his head. "We weren't this hopeless, were we?"

Louis slips an arm around his flatmate's waist, resting his head against Zayn's thin shoulder. "Oh, Zaynie, we were so much worse. We didn't have a Liam to drive us home or nice upperclassmen to put us to bed, remember? I can think of a few times we woke up in the park after a night out."

Liam stands up, dusting off his hands after finally freeing Niall of his footwear. The look on his face is incredulous. "You can't be serious. In the park?"

Louis nods solemnly. "'fraid so. I woke up underneath a bench, and Zayn here was sleeping on top of it."

Zayn is sniggering into his hand. "We thought we’d gotten bunk beds," he says, shoulders shaking as he tries to keep his laughter quiet. Louis is pretty sure it doesn't matter anyway, as Niall seems to be dead to the world.

"Come on, Li, surely you got up to some trouble before you turned into the mature, sensible specimen before us," Louis teases cheekily.

Liam laughs nervously, flustered. "Can't say I did, really. I spent most of my free time studying and playing video games. I didn't have lot of friends, so I kept to myself." He shrugs nonchalantly. "Apart from my flatmates over the years, you lot are the first proper mates I've had since I started uni."

"Awww, Liam!" Louis coos, disentangling himself from Zayn and pulling Liam into a hug. "I'm so happy we needed to have an alarming quantity of things printed every week so we could get to know you." He grabs Zayn's shirt, hauling him into the embrace as well.

"Er, right," Zayn says awkwardly, patting each of the other men on the back before pulling away. "Anyway, we should get some sleep."

Liam nods as he and Louis separate, gaze never straying from Zayn. "Yeah, you've got an early class tomorrow, you're going to be tired."

Louis raises an eyebrow at Zayn, but his flatmate doesn't notice. Still, he thinks, there has to be some significance in Liam knowing Zayn's schedule. Louis barely knows Zayn's schedule, and he lives with the man.

"I'll walk you out," Zayn says, a small smile playing on his lips. Liam smiles back, letting Zayn lead the way to the door. They really would make the cutest couple—well, second cutest, Louis amends.

Speaking of couples, he has a very drunk boyfriend in his bed not being cuddled by anyone, and that is an absolute shame.

Harry is passed out, snoring softly, when Louis finishes cleaning his teeth and face and makes it back to his bedroom. The younger man has scooted over to his usual side of the bed, arm stretched out to Louis' empty spot. Feeling a surge of affection in his chest, Louis quickly undresses, climbing into bed wearing only his pants.

The sheets are cool and soft against Louis’ overheated skin. As he eases in next to Harry, arms snaking around his boyfriend, he can't help but laugh. In the time between putting Harry to bed and joining him, the curly-haired boy has managed to remove his pants, now pressing against Louis without a stitch of clothing on his body.

"You're so hopeless," Louis whispers fondly, brushing his lips lightly across Harry's forehead. "Good night, Harry."

Harry sighs happily in his sleep, snuggling even closer to Louis. "Love you," he mumbles in reply.

Louis' heart thumps so loudly in his chest that he's worried it may wake up the man sleeping next to him. They've been together for nearly two months now, but aside from calling each other 'love' now and again, the word has never come up.

He loves me. The thought has fireworks and police sirens and cymbals crashing in his brain, far too much noise for the hangover he can already feel coming on.

Louis takes a calming breath, reminding himself that Harry said it in his sleep, after all, and lets himself drift off to the sound of Harry's impossibly cute litany of snores.

♠♥♣♦

Louis doesn't cry when he takes Harry to the train station, carrying his boyfriend's duffel while Harry pulls a rolling suitcase behind him. He doesn't cry as the train pulls in, even when Harry starts sniffling against his chest. He doesn't cry while the train moves away, waving to Harry, whose tear-streaked face is pressed against the window.

Only when he gets home, back to the safe haven of his quiet flat, does he allow the tears to come. Weeping silently, he pads down the hall to Zayn's room, pushing inside without even bothering to knock.

Zayn is sat up in bed, shirtless and wrapped in his duvet, his laptop perched across his legs. "Louis?" he says, frowning in concern at the state of his best friend, "What's the matter, babe?"

Louis chokes out a sob and flings himself into Zayn's bed, the other man hastily moving his laptop out of harm's way before enfolding Louis in his toned arms.

Pressing his face to the flat, bronzed planes of Zayn's chest, Louis lets his tears drip steadily onto the other man's skin. "I miss him already," he sniffles lamely.

"Who are you and what have you done with my flatmate?" Zayn ribs him, idly stroking Louis' hair. "Seriously, Tommo, I have never seen you this gone for a boy before."

Louis swipes at his eyes, pulling away from Zayn's embrace to look the other man in the face. "I don't think I've ever been this gone for a boy," he admits. "I don't know what it is about him. I feel like a piece of me is missing when he's not around." He smacks Zayn with a pillow at the skeptical face his flatmate fixes him with. "Don't say a word, you arse. I'm in pain, here."

The cynical look shifts to something softer. "I'm really happy for you guys. You seem like you've been good for Harry, and I think he's been good for you, too. What you two have is really special," Zayn marvels.

Louis doesn't miss the note of jealousy in his voice. "I think you could have something special too, Zayn. You are quite a catch," he teases, pinching at Zayn's chest and giggling at the other man's cry of protest. "And, for what it's worth, I don't think you should give up on Liam just yet."

Zayn's face colours and he suddenly finds something on the bedspread quite fascinating.

Taken aback at Zayn’s reaction, Louis arches his brows. "Is there something you aren't telling me?"

The flush on Zayn's face deepens further. "Erm, kind of? But not really." he says, and Louis doesn't think he's ever seen the man so flustered in the entirety of their friendship. "When I walked him out after the club last week, he hugged me. Like, a proper hug." The way Zayn’s lips twist upward seems to indicate he's reliving the memory. "And like, since then, he's hugged me every time he's seen me."

Louis nods along in mock solemnity, trying not to laugh. "That sounds like it's getting serious. You boys make sure to use protection, now," he chides.

Zayn growls in aggravation and shoves his flatmate off the bed.

Louis hits the floor with a thump, dragging a good portion of Zayn's duvet with him as he lands in a giggling heap.

"See if I tell you anything ever again," Zayn seethes, and Christ, Louis can hear the pout in his voice.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he wheezes, trying to rein in his mirth. "I'm happy for you, I really am. Just keep me posted, right?" His only reply is a pillow chucked over the edge of the bed. "Zaynie, don't be like that. I really am happy that you and Liam are spending so much time together." Louis sits up on his knees, taking a risk and resting his chin on the edge of Zayn's mattress. "He'd be crazy not to fall for you."

"Yeah, well, I haven't known him long enough to see how crazy he is yet. Now get out of my room. I fully intend to sleep through at least the first week of break." With that, Zayn reclaims the duvet from the floor and flops down, ending their conversation.

In much higher spirits than he'd been in upon entering, Louis climbs to his feet and leaves Zayn to nap in peace.

♠♥♣♦ 

Break drags by slowly, Louis coming to realize how accustomed he’s grown to Harry's constant presence in his life. True, the younger man is only a text or a phone call away, but Louis can feel the distance in their words. There’s just something about knowing Harry can't show up on his doorstep at any moment, that wide, silly grin plastered on his face.

It helps a little bit when it's time for Louis to travel to his hometown of Doncaster for Christmas, a space that has never known Harry's presence, thereby feeling less empty without it.

Of course, being constantly pulled in a hundred different directions by his mum and four younger siblings is an excellent distraction as well.

"Louis! Dinner will be ready in half an hour, love," Louis' mum calls, poking her head into the living room where he and the eldest of his sisters, Lottie, are watching the end of "Miracle on 34th Street," a tradition they've shared on his Christmas Eve birthday for as long as he can remember. Since before Lottie can remember, certainly.

Louis glances at the time on his cell phone. "I'm gonna run to my room for a bit if you don't mind, Lots." He climbs to his feet, knees popping as he stands.

Lottie eyes him mischievously, a knowing smirk on her face. "Going to call your boyfriend?" She asks, leering up at him.

"What— How do you know I have a boyfriend?" Louis hisses quietly, glancing around to make sure no one else heard. He doesn’t mean to hide his relationship with Harry, but answering approximately a million questions about the curly-haired lad while Louis misses him so much does not sound like a fun way to spend the rest of his visit, thanks. So he just isn’t going to mention it, that’s all.

Lottie rolls her eyes, large and blue and so similar to Louis'. "Please. You've been mooning at your mobile nonstop since you've been here, and unless you really, really miss that fit flatmate of yours, I'm going to assume there's someone else." She bats her long lashes imploringly. "So tell me about him. I won't tell mum, but I want all of the details."

Louis sighs, sagging his shoulders in defeat. "Let me go and talk to him until dinner, and then after I'll tell you anything you want to know." He laughs despite himself at Lottie's victory dance, heading to his room to have some privacy.

Harry's already online when Louis signs into Skype, the call notification popping up on Louis' screen the moment he logs on.

His heart beating faster just at the prospect of seeing Harry's face (pixelated though it may be), Louis wastes no time accepting the call. They've texted nearly constantly since break started, and spoken on the phone at least once a day, but this will be their first time Skyping.

"Louis!" Harry's voice comes blaring out of the speakers the moment the call connects. He's laying on his stomach in what seems to be his bed, a scarf tied around his mess of brown curls.

"Hey, babe," Louis responds, smiling warmly at the screen. "I like your hair like that."

Harry raises a hand to finger at the material of the scarf. "Yeah? This was an early Christmas gift from Gemma. Thought I'd give it a go." His eyes glance away from the camera. "I, uh, kind of came out to her?"

Louis' mouth falls open in surprise. "Harry, that's huge! I'm so proud of you!" And he is. Coming out to your family can be incredibly hard, and for Harry to have taken that step... It's a pivotal moment in his life, one the young man will probably never forget. "Did it go okay, then?"

Harry's smile can barely be contained by the width of his face. He nods energetically. "Yeah, she was brilliant. Best big sister in the world. She said she didn't see it coming, but that she loves me no matter what. That's when she decided to take me shopping for an early gift."

Louis makes a mental note to send Gemma the largest bouquet of flowers and chocolates he can find for being so good to his boy. Or wine. Definitely wine.

"That's so great, Harry. Congratulations." He wishes he could be there with Harry, to smother the boy in kisses and meet this wonderful sister of his, but for now he settles on blowing a kiss into the camera on his laptop. "You think you're going to tell your folks?"

Harry's smile falters slightly. "Not yet," he says, his voice suddenly small.

"You don't think they'd be as open to it as Gemma?"

Harry shakes his head fervently. "No, it's not that. It's just... It's Christmas, you know? I think they're going to be fine with it, they've always been so supportive of me, but just in case it is hard for them to deal with... I don't want it to be associated with Christmas time." He scrunches up his nose. "I'll pick some random weekend in a boring month, liven things up a bit. March, maybe. Nothing good happens in March."

With a laugh, Louis sits up and presses his back against the wall of his childhood bedroom, pulling the computer into his lap. "Don't let Nialler hear you say that. St. Patrick's Day happens in March."

Harry just grins, flashing a thumbs up at the screen. "Perfect! I'll just wait until everyone's had a few and lay it on them then!" He laughs raucously, a curl slipping free of his head wrap and bouncing along his forehead. Louis can’t help giggling along with him.

Once their laughter subsides, Harry sighs. "I miss you. I hate that I can't spend your birthday with you."

"I miss you too, babe. Maybe next year, yeah?" Louis stills the second the words leave his mouth, realizing the importance of what he's just said. He and Harry have never really discussed the future, or where they see their relationship going. They certainly haven't started making plans a year in advance. Hopefully the poor quality of their video connection hides the brief flash of panic across Louis’ face.

"Yeah, I'd like that," Harry replies sweetly, giving no indication he's noticed Louis' moment of terror. Instead, something dawns on his face that has his eyes sparkling. "Speaking of, check the pocket of your duffel bag."

Louis' eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me?"

"Your bag. The green one? Check the little pocket on the side. I slipped something in it for you." Harry's grin is absolutely devilish, the other man clearly proud of his sneaky surprise.

Throwing Harry a dubious look, Louis pushes the laptop away and leans over the edge of the bed, straining to reach the green duffel he'd packed his clothes in. He eventually gets his fingers through the strap, tugging it up onto the foot of his bed. Sure enough, a small, neatly wrapped present is tucked into the zippered pocket on the side of the bag.

Retrieving the package, Louis returns to his spot in front of the computer screen. "Harry, we agreed no presents, remember?" he chastises, tapping the gift against his cheek.

Harry clicks his tongue. "We agreed no _Christmas_ presents," he asserts. "That's your birthday present."

"Oh, you're impossible," Louis says with a laugh, admiring the gold foil wrapping complete with a little bow. It's a far cry better than Louis' wrapping ability, that's for sure. "D'you want me to open it now?"

"Yes yes yes!" Harry chants, practically bouncing up and down. "It's not much, but I really hope you'll like it."

"I'm sure I will," Louis replies as he opens the package, carefully pulling apart the seams instead of ripping into it like he normally would. Something about how lovingly it's wrapped makes Louis loath to tear the paper. He imagines Harry sat on the floor of his room, surrounded by failed attempts at wrapping, tongue poked out of his mouth in determination to get it perfect this time.

Once all the paper is removed, Louis is left holding a nondescript cardboard box. He briefly glances up at the video call, at his boyfriend eagerly watching him open the gift.

"You're so slow," Harry complains, leaning into the camera so that his face fills the screen.

Chuckling, Louis pulls the lid off of the box. Inside, nestled amid a pile of colorful tissue paper, are several different objects. Louis pulls out a hand-painted (he assumes by Harry) tea mug, a gift card for their favorite coffee shop, a mix CD with the tracks neatly printed on the case in Harry's loopy handwriting, and a framed picture.

The picture is of their little group of friends from a night out, piled on top of each other and laughing silently at the waitress they had asked to take the photo. Liam has an arm slung around Zayn's neck, Zayn's face red from the contact or the alcohol or some combination of the two. On the other side, Louis has his arms around Harry's waist and his chin on the taller man's shoulder, smiling so widely that his eyes are nearly closed. Harry's mouth is open, caught mid-laugh, his arms covering Louis' where they cross at his middle. Niall is standing behind the table, leaning in, a pint in one hand and the other punching the air. He looks like he's cheering his head off, not even bothering to look at the camera.

It's the greatest gift Louis has ever received.

"Harry, I love it," he whispers, running his fingers along the edges of the sleek black frame. He raises his gaze to meet Harry's through the webcam, willing the joyful tears filling his eyes not to spill over. "All of it. Thank you so much."

"I'm so glad you like it. Happy birthday, Lou." Harry's voice is warm and thick and Louis wishes desperately he could wrap himself in it and stay there for days.

"Happy Christmas Eve, Harry," he replies reverently, not sure what he did to deserve such a wonderful person in his life.

The moment is rudely interrupted by a pounding on Louis' bedroom door. "Oi! Lover boy! Mum says it's dinner time!" Lottie's voice calls, loud despite the layer of wood separating her from Louis.

With an apologetic grin, Louis carefully packs his gifts back into their box. "Sorry, love. I have to go." He holds up the CD before putting it away. "We'll listen to this together when we get back, okay?"

"I'd love that." Harry says, smiling affectionately back at Louis. "Have a good dinner with your family. Text me, yeah?"

"Of course. Thanks again! Bye!" He and Harry take turns kissing at the camera, neither one wanting to end the call, before Louis reluctantly disconnects. He looks at the cardboard box in his lap, placing the lid back on it and gently setting it aside. He can't remember ever receiving such a thoughtful gift. Certainly not from a boyfriend, in any case.

 _Best boyfriend ever !_ Louis types out to Harry from the dining room table. His family stares at him curiously, prying to know who he's talking to, because he grins like mad at the reply the comes in a moment later.

_I know you are .xx_

♠♥♣♦

The rest of Louis' break is uneventful. He stays in Doncaster over New Year's, calling Harry at midnight and making obnoxious kissing noises into the phone. From then it's a little less than a week until Harry will be back in his arms. Not that he's counting, of course.

When Louis arrives back at the flat from his visit home, Zayn is still away. Even though his flatmate spends a good portion of his time in his room when he is there, the place still feels too empty without anyone else in it. Feeling the weight of the solitude pressing in on him, Louis tries desperately to keep himself busy. He starts a playlist on his laptop, cranks up the volume, and sets to work cleaning the apartment.

He's singing along with an Ed Sheeran song at the top of his lungs, dancing in place as he scrubs the kitchen counter, when he feels a strong pair of hands latch onto his hips.

"Holy shit!" Louis cries out, spinning around.

And Harry is there, in person, grinning down at him. The taller boy's green eyes are clear and sparkling, his hair tied up in yet another scarf. "Hey, babe," he says, a smile in his voice.

"I didn't hear you come in!" Louis squeaks, quickly drying his hands on his joggers and reaching to pause the music. "You aren't supposed to be back for a week yet!"

Chuckling, Harry pulls the startled man closer to him. "Surprise. The halls don't open again until next week, but I told mum I was going to stay with a friend for the rest of break." He dips down to press a kiss to Louis' forehead. "If that's okay, of course."

"Yes, it's okay! This is great!" Louis shouts, wrapping his arms around Harry and holding onto him like a lifeline. He tilts his head up, standing on his toes and covering Harry's rose pink lips with his own.

The kiss starts off soft and sweet, as if the two men sharing it are remembering the best way to slot together after several weeks apart. It doesn't stay that way for long, though. The gentle brush of lips gives way to the slick slide of tongue on tongue, mouths bruising and swelling with the force behind it.

Louis moans into the kiss, having missed this far too much, missed having this handsome, vibrant man against him. He fits his hands up the back of Harry's jumper, trailing his nails across the skin underneath.

Harry seems to approve because all of a sudden he breaks the kiss with a gasp, head rolling back on his neck. "Bedroom. Now," he pants, locking his eyes on Louis'. Harry's pupils are blown wide, the iris a tiny ring of green around the deep black center.

Louis nods in agreement, breath hitching at the sight of Harry so needy, so turned on just by Louis kissing him. Knowing Louis has that effect on the younger man is intoxicating.

"Zayn's not home," he manages to get out as Harry tugs him down the hallway. That bit of information has the younger boy pawing at Louis' shirt, and soon they’re stripping as they go, a trail of clothing strewn behind them to mark their path.

Louis lets out a gasp when he feels his back hit the wall next to his bedroom door, Harry's hands rucking up his shirt for skin-to-skin contact. The brunet presses in closer, and Louis can feel Harry's erection straining against the tight denim of his skinny jeans. Harry’s mouth is hot on the sensitive skin of Louis’ throat, widening in a groan when Louis reaches down to cup the younger man’s erection.

Even the briefest contact has Harry canting his hips desperately into the touch. "I want you so bad," he pants, voice shuddery from the intensity of his desire.

"Take me to bed, then," Louis replies, nearly a purr, as he applies slightly more pressure to Harry's groin.

Harry keens in response, and without warning Louis finds himself being lifted into the air, carried into his room like a bride over a threshold.

The arms around him are strong, well-muscled, and Louis can't remember the last time someone actually picked him up. It makes him feel small in the best possible way, safe and secure and protected in the shelter of those arms. It’s funny; Louis never considered himself one to need to feel protected, always took on that role himself, but for Harry he might make an exception.

When they reach the bed, Harry lowers him down to the mattress slowly, gently, his own body following Louis' descent. Most of Louis' clothing, aside from his pants, are scattered down the hallway, but Harry's managed to keep his jeans on. The tight skinnies feel rough against Louis' bare legs, every nerve ending a live wire, and as he runs his hands over Harry's firm back all he can think of is _off off off._

In the next instant Harry's mouth is on his as he holds his weight over Louis with one arm, the muscles straining beneath his creamy skin. The other hand slides between their bodies to unfasten his jeans and attempt to push them down his body.

Impatiently, Louis parts the kiss and leans forward, his hands aiding Harry in ridding himself of the denim barrier. After a moment of fumbling and cursing his boyfriend’s taste in tight trousers, the troublesome jeans are finally sliding down and the first contact of Harry's clothed erection against his own, both leaking into the fabric of their pants, is enough to make Louis see sparks.

"God," he gasps helplessly as Harry grinds down against him. He tosses his head back, eyes clenched tightly closed, and Harry takes the opportunity to attack the exposed column of Louis' throat. Pants are hurriedly shucked, their mouths barely losing contact as they rid themselves of the last bit of clothing.

If Harry had lacked any confidence the first time they'd been intimate, he's showing no trace of trepidation now. His hands are sure as they touch every bit of Louis' bare skin within reach, Louis shivering as fingers brush along his sensitive hip bones. Harry nips at Louis' pulse point and grinds down in one smooth motion, causing Louis to rock his pelvis into the friction. He can feel Harry's thumbs pressing bruises into his hips as the younger man tries to hold Louis still, and the thought of Harry holding him down and marking his body nearly has Louis whimpering.

Louis doesn't give up control, not usually. He likes being in charge, even if he's only pulling the strings behind the scenes, but there's something about Harry that makes him just... let go. There's something so alluring about the fact that the boy currently driving him closer and closer to orgasm is the same boy who is too afraid to hold his hand in public. This version of Harry isn't afraid of what anyone else thinks, just knows what he wants and how to get it, and Louis hopes that one day this Harry will be brave enough to make an appearance outside of the bedroom.

With a few more clothes on, of course.

Louis' so lost in his thoughts, enjoying the sensation of Harry's mouth worshiping his body, of his nerves alighting with every drag of Harry's blunt nails against his skin, that he doesn't notice how far Harry's slid down on the bed until he feels a gentle lick over one of the bruises on his hips. His hands fly to the mess of curls shielding Harry from view like a curtain, the ends barely tickling Louis' fluttering stomach.

"This okay?" Harry asks, lips brushing against the damp skin.

"Y– yes," Louis manages, trying to remember to breathe as Harry sucks a love bite next to the thumbprint-shaped mark already there. He tries very, very hard not to think about how close Harry is to his cock, how good those full, puffy lips would look stretched around him...

It's too much. With a groan Louis hauls Harry back up his body, pressing their mouths together until they're both gasping for air. Taking advantage of the daze the kiss seems to have left Harry in, Louis rolls them over so that his smaller body is draped over Harry's lithe frame.

"I want you to tell me if you want me to stop," Louis whispers, tongue darting out to barely brush Harry's earlobe before he's shimmying down on the bed. He picks up where Harry's left off on his body, one hand reaching up to roll the hard nub of Harry's nipple between his fingers as he mouths his way down the brunet's trembling abs, pausing only when his chin brushes the coarse patch of hair surrounding Harry’s cock. Louis looks up at Harry, one eyebrow raised in a silent question as he plants a gentle kiss over the sparse trail leading down over the slight swell of Harry's stomach.

Harry's eyes are wide, unblinking, and when he meets Louis' gaze he nods, licking his lips in anticipation.

Slowly, deliberately, Louis continues his path downwards until his mouth is hovering over Harry's erection. He knows Harry's been with girls before, has probably had a blow job before, but he still feels the need to take his time, go slow, make it as incredible for Harry as he's able. Wrapping a hand around the thick length of his boyfriend's cock, Louis brings the leaking head to his mouth and fits his lips around it.

Harry bucks upward into Louis' mouth, the older man pulling back just in time to avoid being gagged. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry," Harry says frantically, hands tightly clenched in the rumpled sheets. "Fuck, Lou, that felt so good."

Louis can't help the amused chuckle that escapes him, working his hand along Harry's shaft, his saliva easing the slide of skin on skin. "It's gonna feel even better, baby," he murmurs. With that he takes Harry in his mouth once more, swirling his tongue around the tip before sinking down as far as he can manage. Louis' given a fair few blow jobs in his day, sure, but Harry's, well, above average. Between his mouth and hand, he manages to cover Harry's entire length, squeezing lightly as he begins working his mouth up and down Harry's dick.

"God, fuck, Louis," Harry's grinding out between moans. "You feel so good."

Louis hums around Harry's erection, hollowing his cheeks as he takes more of Harry into his mouth. The taste is incredible, everything he’d imagined and more. It’s salty and musky and not at all unpleasant, even when a blurt of precome hits his curled tongue. He continues with even greater determination, craving more of the heady taste.

A hand cupping his jaw makes Louis glance up, a thumb pressing into the hollow of his cheek. Harry's eyes are hooded as he feels his dick moving in Louis' mouth, pressing his fingers in so the pocket of Louis' cheek makes even more contact with his throbbing erection.

And fuck, if it isn't the hottest blow job Louis' ever given. The noises escaping Harry's lips are a mixture of curses and affirmations, and when the hand moulded to Louis' jaw flies to his hair instead, Louis knows the other boy is close.

He backs off of Harry's cock to suckle on the tip, pumping the base in earnest as he licks around the head. Harry's hand clenches in Louis' hair, tugging sharply, and then there's a hot spurt of come spilling into his waiting mouth.

Louis strokes Harry lightly through his climax, milking every last drop of come from Harry's flagging erection until the younger man relaxes his grip on Louis' locks and lets his hand fall limply down to his side, sensitive and shuddering.

With one last swallow, Louis eases his mouth off of Harry and languidly crawls back up the length of his boyfriend's boneless form.

"That was brilliant," Harry utters, voice barely above a whisper.

"You're brilliant," Louis whispers back, and fuck, his voice sounds absolutely wrecked.

Harry must notice it too because he moans at the sound, gathering his strength to flip them over once more. At Louis' wild-eyed surprise, Harry fixes him with a mischievous grin. "My turn."

"Harry, you don't have to—oh." Louis' protest is cut short by the warm hand, slightly damp with sweat, wrapping around his neglected cock.

"I want to," Harry insists, giving Louis a gentle stroke. "Just... You'll tell me what to do, won't you?"

Louis' heart is bursting with affection for the boy straddling him, going from sex god to blushing virgin in a matter of seconds. "Of course, baby," Louis coos, reaching up to touch Harry's flushed face.

Harry presses into the touch, planting a gentle kiss against Louis' palm, before lowering himself to eye level with Louis' groin. Harry's eyes sweep over the view in front of him, Louis' painfully hard cock leaking onto his belly. "You're beautiful." His voice is rough and soft at the same time, like suede brushed against the grain, and without further hesitation he lowers himself down to press a reverent kiss against the head of Louis' hard-on.

The brush of soft lips against him has Louis moaning, but that feeling is nothing compared to the slick, scorching heat that surrounds him a moment later. Louis swears he feels the warmth of Harry's mouth from his toes to his eyelids, as if the other man is filling Louis with some unseen energy as he takes more and more of Louis into his eager throat.

The cool air hitting Louis' cock is jarring when Harry pulls off suddenly, sputtering. "Sorry," Harry says weakly, looking ashamed. "I, er, tried to take too much."

Louis caresses Harry's head comfortingly. "Just go slow, love. You don't have to gag yourself. It's going to feel amazing, I promise." He tugs Harry's free hand to his mouth and kisses it.

"And if you don't like it, we can stop."

Harry shakes his head fervently, determined to return the favor. "No. I want to," he asserts. "Just, could you warn me before you, you know," he stumbles over the words, far too shy for someone who’s just had a dick in his mouth.

"I will," Louis assures him, and then he's engulfed in Harry's sinful heat once more. Harry's licks are cautious, testing, but just the knowledge that his boyfriend is willing to try something unfamiliar to please him is spurring on the tension building in Louis' abdomen. "Move up and down," Louis instructs firmly, before wincing. "Ah, but watch your teeth."

"Sorry," Harry mumbles around his mouthful of cock, and honestly Louis didn't know such a thing could be so endearing.

Harry's a quick learner, and it's not long before Louis is fighting the urge to thrust upwards, barely keeping himself from fucking into Harry's mouth. Another day, perhaps. "I'm so close, H," Louis pants, the heat in his belly coiled like a spring.

Harry nods in acknowledgment but doesn't back down, bobbing his head along Louis' length, and fuck if Louis hadn't been right about how good those lips look wrapped around him, like they were made for sucking cock. With that picture in mind, Louis' coming with a shout, arching off the bed as his climax slams through his body.

The unfamiliar taste startles Harry, who pulls off too soon. The last few spurts hit Harry's lips and cheek, the white ropes standing out against the redness of his heated skin. He looks absolutely debauched, all messy hair and glassy eyes and strings of come dripping from his face.

Much to Harry's surprise, Louis hauls his boyfriend down with a growl, greedily cleaning the mess away with his tongue. Harry's own tongue chases Louis' back into the older man's mouth, the kiss bitter and musky from their commingled tastes and _fuck,_ Louis doesn't think he's ever tasted anything better.

It's Harry who pulls away first, rolling off of Louis with a sigh. Louis wastes no time curling into his boyfriend's side, eyelids already feeling heavy in the aftermath of the incredible orgasm Harry has delivered.

"Did I do okay?" Harry asks, his voice hoarse. He works his mouth from side to side, jaw probably aching from the unfamiliar stretch.

Louis buries his face into Harry's neck, pressing a gentle kiss over a love bite he doesn't even remember leaving. "You were so good, baby. A natural." Another kiss. "Did you like it? You don't have to do it again if you didn't."

He feels Harry shake his head next to him. "No, I definitely liked it. The way you taste, Lou, god. It's intoxicating." He pulls Louis closer, not sounding far from sleep himself.

Louis' been called a lot of things over the years, but no one has ever referred to him as _intoxicating_ before. He shivers with happiness, wrapping his arms around the solid body next to his, wondering how on Earth he managed to get this lucky. Louis falls asleep feeling warm and safe and loved, held snug in the arms of the most wonderful boy he thinks he's ever known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to every single person who's taken the time to read this so far, and for all the comments, kudos, and messages on tumblr. It's been so lovely getting to chat with all of you. <3
> 
> If you are enjoying this story, I would be over the moon if you'd reblog the [post for it](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com/post/117426368801/both-showing-hearts-by-kiwikero-icanhazzalou) on tumblr!
> 
> The next chapter is one of my beta's favorites, so you have that to look forward to! ^_^ See you next Sunday!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo! Like I mentioned on tumblr, I am at a family reunion today and will be spending tomorrow on the road back home, so you get chapter 6 a day early!! =D
> 
> Thank you so much to Sarah for finishing editing a day early!! Speaking of Sarah, she has an amazing new community dedicating to recognizing fics that didn't get much attention. It's called [Undiscovered Fic](http://undiscoveredfic.tumblr.com/), and you should check it out! Read something new and submit your favorite hidden gems!!
> 
> Song for this chapter: "All of Me" - John Legend.

Second semester has barely started when Louis decides that he’s dying.

Okay, he isn’t _really_ dying, but he has come down with the flu. At least it was polite enough to wait until after his examinations, though it does mean missing the first few days of the new term.

He says as much as he talks to Harry on the phone, curled up in bed and coughing weakly every few sentences. “What was it like, H? Tell me what it was like when I was happy,” he moans into the receiver.

“You’re such a big baby, Lou," Harry chuckles from the other end of the line. "You’re not dying. Want me to bring you some soup?”

Louis blows his nose noisily into a bit of loo roll, having run out of tissues earlier in the day. His nose is chapped and red from the constant blowing, and he knows he looks a frightful mess. “No. You can’t see me like this. I need you to remember me the way I used to look.”

“Louis,” Harry says plaintively, sighing into the phone. “I wish you’d let me take care of you. I don’t care how snotty and gross you are.”

“Hey!” Louis cries indignantly, bringing forth another coughing fit. “It’s fine, really. I’ll make Zayn play nurse.” Zayn’s idea of taking care of Louis is bringing him beer and opening the door just wide enough to toss medicine in, but Louis isn’t about to tell Harry that.

“Well, hurry up and get better so that I can play doctor,” Harry says, and Louis can practically hear him waggling his eyebrows.

Smiling into his mobile, Louis burrows deeper into the covers. “I’ll do my best, love. I’m going to take some Night Nurse and try to sleep it off.”

“All right, Lou. Call me if you need anything at all. Feel better.” With an obnoxious smooching noise, Harry ends the call and leaves Louis to his misery.

Groping on the nightstand for the box of medicine, Louis fumbles to free two tablets from their stubborn packaging and swallows them down. Settling back into bed, he waits for the Night Nurse to kick in and wishes that Harry was curled up next to him instead of all the way across campus.

♠♥♣♦

Ten hours.

That’s exactly how long Louis holds out before he finds himself standing in front of Harry’s room on Sunday morning, still wrapped in his duvet.

“Louis?” Harry looks confused as he opens the door to see his boyfriend leaning weakly against the frame. “Did you really walk all the way across campus wearing your comforter?”

Louis gives a pitiful little cough. “Not the important bit, Haz.” He looks pleadingly up at Harry with drooping, glassy eyes. “Will you please take care of me?”

Harry laughs as he pulls the blanket-clad man in for a hug. “Of course I will.” He plants a kiss to Louis’ rumpled hair. “You just have to promise that you’ll return the favour when you eventually get me sick.”

Nodding emphatically, Louis allows himself to be led to Harry’s double bed and tucked in. Within minutes, Louis has a cool flannel on his forehead and Harry has disappeared to the shared kitchen to fix some soup. Already feeling much better than he had alone in his room, Louis drifts off to sleep.

“Lou?”

When he opens his eyes again, a concerned-looking Harry is hovering at the edge of the bed, a steaming mug in each hand.

“Hey, babe,” Louis replies sleepily, his voice scratchy and weak.

Setting both mugs on the nightstand, Harry eases himself down onto the edge of the mattress, a large hand drifting to rub Louis’ leg beneath the pile of blankets. “I’m sorry to wake you, you were sleeping so well,” Harry murmurs, looking contrite, “but I made you some soup and tea.”

“Best boyfriend,” Louis says, grinning as best as he’s able. Harry helps him sit up, propping him against a stack of pillows, before handing him the warm mug of soup. Louis can’t smell it because of his stuffy nose, but it looks appetizing, at the very least.

Once Harry’s satisfied that Louis isn’t going to nod back off and drown in the soup, he takes the flannel from Louis’ forehead and disappears once more. When he returns with a fresh one, he gently mops Louis’ forehead with the cool, damp cloth. “You’re burning up, love. I think you need to see a doctor.” Harry’s voice is filled with worry.

Louis blows across the surface of the soup, chicken noodle by the looks of it. “It’s just the flu, H. It’ll run its course in a few days.” He takes a sip of broth, wincing at the too-hot liquid filling his mouth. Once he manages to swallow, he explains, “My mum’s a nurse. If me or my sisters ever went to the doctor, something was seriously wrong.”

Not looking terribly convinced, Harry sits back down on the foot of the bed. “If you say so. You definitely aren’t going to class, though.” He finds Louis’ big toe through the blanket, giving it a playful squeeze. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” His smile is warm and sweet, and Louis isn’t sure if it’s the fever talking or if Harry is even more beautiful when he’s being domestic.

 _Definitely the fever, you weirdo,_ Louis thinks, returning a grin. “Thanks, babe. Just keep the tea coming and I reckon I’ll live.”

♠♥♣♦

Monday finds Louis feeling like death warmed over. Harry’s in class and he’s alone, still tucked snugly into his boyfriend’s small bed. That bed is precisely the reason they usually sleep at Louis’, as evidenced by Harry nearly kicking Louis on the floor when he decided to become a starfish in the middle of the night.

Rubbing his eyes, simultaneously feeling quite fond of his boy and annoyed at the quality of sleep he had gotten, Louis drags his phone off Harry’s bedside table to check the time. It’s just after 10 AM, meaning Harry’s first lesson of the day should be starting. He hadn’t even woken up when Harry had left, and now he'll be alone in his boyfriend's flat for the next few hours.

Opening up his messages, Louis taps out a quick text for Harry.

_can’t believe you didn’t kiss me bye, you wanker :( Bring me something for lunch !_

He’s just laid his phone down on his blanket-covered chest, letting his eyes drift closed once more, when it emits two buzzes, one after another.

_i did kiss you bye! You sleep like a rock!_

_I’ll bring you soup from that cafe you like .xx_

Then, after a pause:

_heeeey, i’m not a wanker :(_

Louis just laughs as he reads, impossibly charmed by Harry even through text. He’s amazed at how well Harry has become a part of his life, his new normal. It seems as if the brunet has managed to weave himself amongst everything else in Louis’ world so seamlessly, it feels as if he’s always been there. Or maybe there’s always been a bit of a gap, just waiting for him to come along and be the thread that ties everything together.

A small smile plays on his lips as he thinks of how different his life was before he met Harry, how incomplete he had been. And god, maybe that’s cliche, but it’s true. It’s like watching The Wizard of Oz: His life before that panel had been in black and white, and after that first coffee date with Harry he was suddenly over the rainbow, thrust into a world of colour.

“God, Louis, be a little gayer,” he chastises himself, his scratchy voice loud in the still of Harry’s empty bedroom. Of course, he’s also wearing a t-shirt with the old Apple logo splashed on the front, the symbol a brilliant rainbow against the white background. _Ah, well,_ he thinks. _Someone has to fill the stereotypes, right? If the rainbow fits..._

Alas, his body chooses that moment to remind him that he’s been drinking a lot of fluids in an attempt to stay hydrated and he should probably take a trip to the loo. He’s never been alone in Harry’s flat before, never interacted with the flatmates other than that first, awkward encounter, but he certainly isn’t holding his bladder for hours until Harry gets back.

Fuck it, he thinks to himself, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and gently letting them come into contact with the cool laminate flooring. Shivering slightly at having to leave the warm cocoon of blankets, he reluctantly pads across the room and opens the door to the rest of the flat.

It’s quiet and still, no other flatmates in sight. Light washes over the small flat, dust motes floating lazily in the mid-morning sun. All of the bedroom doors are closed, Niall’s with a sock caught between the door and the frame. Harry’s friend has really grown on Louis too, something about the barely contained chaos of the Irish lad never failing to make Louis smile. He’s so glad Harry has at least one decent person to live with, if the other flatmates are as big of tossers as he thinks they are.

Once he relieves himself and washes his hands, grimacing at the way his unwashed hair is sticking out and his nose is red and chapped from blowing it, Louis pulls open the bathroom door and steps out.

Straight into the broad, solid chest of one of Harry’s flatmates.

_Shit._

It’s the rugby player, Thad. He’s scowling down at Louis, once again wearing a snapback over his dark blond hair. The armholes of his vest are stretched to reveal the tanned skin of his sides, accenting the muscles bulging in his biceps. Louis is pretty sure there isn’t an ounce of fat anywhere on his body.

“Sorry, I was just—sorry!” Louis stammers, taking a step back and holding his hands up in apology. “I didn’t know anyone was home. I’m a friend of Harry’s. Erm, we’ve met? Briefly?”

Thad just blinks, blue eyes cold as they stare icily down at Louis. There’s a smattering of freckles across the bridge of the jock’s nose, crooked as though it’s been broken before, but they do little to make the man look any less threatening. His gaze flickers down to the large, rainbow fruit emblazoned across Louis’ chest, and Louis feels his face fill with an embarrassed flush.

“I know who you are,” he replies gruffly. “What I don’t know is why you’re here. Harry’s got class.” His voice is deep and rumbling, and he says Harry’s name in a manner that makes Louis unconsciously ball his hands into fists at his side.

Louis may be biased, but he thinks Harry is the most likeable person in the world. What on earth can Thad have against him? “I know, I was just, ah, waiting for him. We have plans after,” Louis explains, hating the strain in his voice. He hopes it isn’t too evident he slept over, but shit, he’s wearing pyjama bottoms and looks like he doesn’t own a comb. Unless Thad truly is a dumb jock, he’s surely made the connection.

“I’ll stay in his room until he gets back, sorry,” he mumbles, feeling cowed under the unwavering glare. Louis is not a coward, he’s not, but something about the muscle-bound man feels dangerous, and Louis is trying not to think about Thad slamming kids into lockers in secondary school for acting or looking the same way Louis currently does.

“Yeah, see that you do,” Thad replies, pushing past Louis and into the bathroom. He turns the lock with more force than necessary, as if he’s trying to make it obvious that he knows what Louis is and is protecting his virtue against the rampant homosexual invading his flat.

With a sigh at the closed door, Louis snags a water bottle from the fridge before returning to the safety of Harry’s room. He draws the curtains, blocking out as much daylight as possible, before climbing back into the messy bed. Once he’s properly ensconced, he begins to drift back off to sleep, silently hoping that he didn’t just make things even harder for Harry.

When Harry gently shakes him awake later that afternoon, Louis can’t stop himself from pulling the younger man into a crushing hug. The specifics of what he’d dreamt slip away, but stubborn shreds remain behind; Fists and cruel words and blood, and it was all Louis’ fault. He buries his face in the juncture of Harry’s neck and shoulder, breathing as deeply as he can with his clogged nose. Tears threaten at the corners of his eyes and he tries to blink them away.

Wide-eyed, Harry wraps his arms around Louis and holds his boyfriend close. “Babe? Everything all right?” he asks, rubbing gentle circles into Louis’ back through his t-shirt.

Louis just nods against his boyfriend’s neck, the skin there wet from tears slipping unbidden from his tightly-closed eyes. His fingers clench in the fabric of Harry’s hoodie, wishing he was able to smell the comforting scent of Harry’s washing powder and cologne. _Stupid flu._

“Lou,” Harry says gently, prising Louis far enough away that they can look each other in the eye. “What happened? What’s got you so worked up?” His verdant eyes are wide and imploring, looking as though he may cry just from the sight of the tears streaking Louis’ face.

Scooting back on the bed until his back hits the wall, Louis pulls his legs to his chest and rests his chin on top of his pyjama-clad knees. There’s a hole in the fabric and he picks at it absently, not wanting to look Harry in the face and tell him what he’s done. How do you tell your closeted boyfriend that you just had a run-in with his douchebag flatmate and maybe probably accidentally outed Harry in the process?

“I, erm, ran into Thad earlier,” Louis says in a small voice, digging his finger into the torn tartan as he feels Harry’s eyes bore into him. When he chances an upward glance, Harry is staring back, slack-jawed, eyebrows knit together.

Harry swallows thickly. “Oh.” He sinks down onto the edge of the bed, panic flitting across his large features. “What did he say? I mean,” his eyes drop to the colourful shirt, breathing heavily through his nose. “Do you think he…”

“I think it looks an awful lot like your poof of a friend spent the night.”

Harry winces at the derogatory term, but he stays quiet.

Sighing, the ripped pyjamas no longer able to distract him from the conversation he’s about to have, Louis reaches out to place a delicate hand on Harry’s thigh. “I’m sorry, H. I shouldn’t have slept over. I should have just stayed at mine. I never even thought about what it would look like to your flatmates.” A fresh wave of tears pricks at the corners of Louis’ eyes.

Though he looks shell-shocked, sitting stiff and still at the edge of the bed, Harry covers Louis’ hand with his own and gives it a small squeeze. He offers up a wan smile, the lines in his forehead easing slightly. “It’s not your fault, love. I should have let you know when they’d be here. I mean, the shirt probably doesn’t help matters,” he says, a trace of humour colouring his otherwise even tone. “But what’s done is done.”

“Are you going to come out to them, then?” Louis asks, swiping at the remnants of his tears with his free hand. As soon as the question leaves his lips, he can feel the muscles in Harry’s leg tense up beneath his palm.

Harry gives a firm shake of his head, tossing his curls with the force of it. “No. No, I can’t.” He clenches his eyes closed, as if he’s imagining exactly how that would turn out. When he speaks again, his voice is soft, barely above a whisper. “I can’t, Lou. You haven’t heard how they talk. They make fun of people all the time, it’s literally like living with with the bloke from the rugby match.” A tear tracks its way slowly over the swell of Harry’s cheek. He quickly brushes it away. “Except now it’s going to be directed at me, isn’t it?” The hand not holding Louis’ closes into a fist and he punches it into the mattress. “Fuck!”

Harry’s full-on crying now, and Louis doesn’t know what to do. He’s hit by wave after wave of guilt, and worry, and regret, and it’s all he can manage not to get up and run because this is just too much to feel all at once.

Instead, he draws the sobbing boy closer to him, wrapping his body around Harry’s like a shield, as if he can somehow protect Harry from the demons in his own head.

They sit there for what could be minutes or hours, Louis can’t tell. He’s focused solely on the shaking body cradled in his arms, on stroking Harry’s messy curls and pressing kisses against the crown of his head. Eventually the heaving sobs give way to silent tears, and then finally to gentle snuffles. Louis traitorous shirt, damp with tears, clings to his chest, and when Harry pulls away his face is shiny and wet.

“There you are,” Louis murmurs softly, cupping Harry’s cheek in his palm, catching a stray tear with a brush of his thumb. “It’s going to be okay, love, I’ve got you.”

“I just never thought it was going to be this hard,” Harry says, voice raspy from his breakdown. “I’ve never been this scared in my entire life.”

Louis holds out an arm, inviting, and Harry slides underneath it as he tucks himself against the older man’s side. Now they’re both sitting against the wall, pressed together along the length of their bodies. Louis continues to rub Harry’s back, digging his fingertips in when his ministrations pass over a tightly wound knot of muscle.

“I’m sorry it’s hard. I wish I could make it easier for you,” Louis says, his heart aching for the boy next to him. It’s a sentiment he’s felt so many times in his short life, for so many people. How many times has he heard of a kid coming out only to get kicked out of his home? Or of a transgender person beaten for using the wrong toilets? He’s heard so many stories, doing the OutSpeak panels. He’s had late night chats with Zayn about this exact thing, about being so afraid to come out because it’s hard enough to be different in this world without losing your family, your friends, your support system at the same time.

And he’s sat there, through all the stories and the tears, knowing he’d trade lives with them in a heartbeat if he could. He’d give Zayn his supportive mum, his sisters who gladly chat him up about boys. He’d give Lily his understanding group of friends. He’d have taken the beating for Skye so she never had to. He’d bear it all, let them have his uneventful coming out, if it would make their smiles a little brighter, ease some of the bruises and scars that go more than skin deep.

Now, with Harry slotted against him, feeling unsafe and alienated in his own flat, Louis feels the same longing, tenfold. “I would shoulder all of this for you if I could,” Louis says quietly, but his voice carries in the stillness of the room. “I’d trade you in a heartbeat, Haz. I hope you know that.” He feels Harry give a timid nod against his shoulder. Swallowing against the lump rising in his throat, Louis plants a quick kiss to Harry’s brow before he continues. “Instead, I’ll do the next best thing. I’ll be here with you every step of the way. You’re not alone, babe, and I promise you’re going to come out the other side of this stronger than you ever thought you could be.”

The silence in the room is deafening, pregnant with the weight of Louis’ promises. The only sounds are his and Harry’s breathing, Louis’ slightly louder due to not being able to breathe through his nose.

When Harry finally moves, it’s to turn his entire body and throw his arms around Louis’ neck. Startled, Louis tenses up for a second before he relaxes into the embrace, bringing his other arm around so that they’re clinging to each other like their lives depend on it.

“I love you so much,” Harry whispers against Louis’ ear, the words tumbling out on a ragged exhale.

Louis’ breath hitches as he registers what Harry’s just said. The enormity of those five simple words send shockwaves through his body, his head and his heart and who knows what other organs trying to process what they’ve just heard. It’s like when your ears are ringing and the entire world narrows down to the high-pitched sound only you can hear, but for Louis the sound is a constant stream of _he loves me he loves me he loves me._

He must have tensed up, because Harry’s pulling away in an instant, surveying Louis with fearful eyes. “Lou?”

Louis releases a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his lungs slow on the uptake. His heart’s caught on, though, judging by the frantic rhythm it’s hammering against his ribs. He licks his lips, suddenly aware of how dry and chapped they feel. “Say it again,” he orders in a husky voice.

A faint pink tinge blossoms in Harry’s cheeks, chasing his jawline to where Louis knows his ears will be red if Harry’s hair wasn’t in the way. The brunet lets his eyes flutter closed, a small smile tugging at his plush mouth.

“I said that I love you.”

This time the words tickle deliciously down Louis’ spine, igniting his nerves and raising gooseflesh along the lines of his bare arms. Right now nothing in the world exists other than the beautiful boy on the bed next to him, the one looking expectantly at Louis like he’s waiting for a reply.

He knew this moment was coming, knew it from the night Harry had mumbled a declaration of love in his sleep, but he never thought to prepare a response. He’s been so concerned about making sure Harry is happy and safe, he hadn’t thought about what he might say in return. He’s only known the lad since September. Is that enough time to fall in love?

One look at Harry’s hopeful gaze, all big eyes and red cheeks, and he has his answer. He knew he was in trouble the moment Harry’s voice rang out in that lecture all those months ago, just like he’d somehow known that the feedback form belonged to Harry. He was gone from the first question, the first e-mail, the first meeting in the coffee shop.

His brain finally up to speed with the rest of his body, Louis takes a deep breath and tightens his hold on Harry.

“I love you too.” He wishes the first time he says it wasn’t while he was so congested.

Harry doesn’t seem to mind Louis’ inability to enunciate, instead bursting into a fresh round of tears. This time they’re happy tears, though, and Louis finds his eyes overflowing as well. They’re clutching at each other and laughing and crying and Louis wishes he weren’t ill so he could snog the ever-loving daylight out of his beautiful mess of a boyfriend.

Harry lunges for his mouth anyway, Louis barely avoiding the contact of Harry’s pursed lips. “No, I won’t be getting you sick as well,” the older man laughs, pushing a pouting Harry away gently. He placates the brunet with a lingering kiss to the temple.

Leaning into the kiss, tears still fresh on his cheeks, Harry lets out a pleased sigh. “All right, but just so you know, I’m going to make up for it once your fever’s gone.” He lets out a groan, the sound taking Louis by surprise, and slaps a hand over his eyes. “What if that’s all this is? What if you’re only delirious from the fever and won’t remember any of this tomorrow?” Grinning, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth, he peeks a shining green eye through his fingers.

Louis just laughs, tugging Harry back into his arms. “I promise this isn’t a fever dream. I really do love you, Harry. So much.” He buries his face into the chocolate tresses, grinning so widely it’s making his cheeks ache. The body wrapped around him is solid and warm and it hits him that this is real, that Harry Styles is a real person who loves him, whom he loves in return, and in that moment it’s easy to forget about being sick and missing lessons and arsehole flatmates.

Whatever obstacles he has to face, so be it, because now it’s Harry and Louis against the world, and nothing else matters.

♠♥♣♦

Later, when Harry’s flatmates are gone, the boys finally crawl out of bed. Despite being puffy-eyed from crying, Louis feels better than he has all day—lighter somehow, as if holding back his love for Harry had been weighing him down. Harry seems to be feeling something similar, all blushing and giggly when their conversation lapses for a moment too long.

Louis is smiling fondly at the other boy, looking every bit like a schoolgirl with a crush, when his stomach gives an unpleasant twinge. “Oof,” he groans, splaying a hand on his protesting belly, “I just realized I haven’t actually eaten anything today. Weren’t you going to bring me something?” He twists his mouth into a pout, hoping Harry can see how seriously he takes broken promises when soup is involved.

“I did!” Harry cries, returning the pout in full force, and the sheer amount of lip he has to work with gives him an advantage. “You were sleeping so I put it in the fridge. I got your favourite kind, and some nice bread to dip in it as well.” He looks terribly pleased with himself for a moment before his face sags slightly, eyes round and unblinking as he meets Louis’ gaze. “Erm, my flatmates are only going to be gone for another hour or so.” He’s fidgeting with his fingers, the duvet, anything within reach, and Louis reaches out to still his boyfriend’s restless hands.

Harry offers up a grateful smile before continuing. “I’m not ready to have this conversation with them, and I don’t think you still being here when they get back is a good idea. Think we can pack up our soup and go back to yours for the night?” He looks ashamed at that, like he is somehow weak for being afraid to deal with his closed-minded flatmates.

 _One of these days,_ Louis thinks, turning Harry’s hand in his so that he can lace their fingers together, _I’m going to prove to you exactly how strong you are._ Out loud, he just says, “Sure, babe. I’m ready when you are. You can stay at mine for as long as you like.” He can see Harry visibly relax at his words, the tension inside of him melting away at Louis’ ready agreement, no questions asked.

Once Louis has gathered up his duvet and retrieved the much anticipated soup from the fridge, and Harry has stuffed some clothing into his backpack alongside his textbooks, the pair set off across campus to the safety of Louis’ flat. The walk is silent, only the sound of their footsteps rhythmically pounding the pavement as they wend their way along the tree-lined path. It’s cold, but not unbearably so, their breath coming out in white puffs that curl up and away into the still January air.

Louis has the hand not holding the soup stuffed into his coat pocket, wishing he’d remembered to wear gloves when he left his flat the day before. He shivers slightly, curling his hand as close to his body as he can manage, pressing against the lining of the pocket in hopes of stealing some of the warmth from his body.

He startles when a hand snakes into the pocket alongside his own, slightly warmer and larger than Louis’, wrapping itself around his chilled skin. He cocks his head at Harry in surprise, his eyes silently reflecting the question that plagues Harry anytime they touch each other in public: _But what if someone sees?_

Harry just shrugs and smiles, giving Louis’ hand a reassuring squeeze, and keeps walking. The duvet draped around Louis hides their entwined hands away, like a carefully kept secret, and Louis feels warmer just knowing that he’s getting to hold Harry’s hand. In public. Or maybe it’s just the fever coming on again.

Fever or not, he clutches Harry’s hand the entire way back to the flat, as if he’s afraid Harry might slip away if he doesn’t hold tightly enough. Like he’s something lovely washed up on the beach, and if Louis doesn’t grab onto him before the tide comes in he’ll be swept away, lost at sea, waiting to wash up on another beach that won’t give him up quite so quickly. No, Louis thinks, rubbing the back of Harry’s hand with his thumb, _I am his beach. He’s not going anywhere._

And, yeah, definitely the fever talking, then.

The sun is starting to set by the time they make it to the edge of campus. A warm glow illuminates the windows of their flat, and like usual, Zayn’s car is parked in its customary spot along the kerb. What catches Louis’ attention, though, is the car parked behind it.

Louis pulls them to a halt, raising a coy eyebrow at Harry as he gestures to the second car with his head.

Harry stares dumbly at the vehicle, looking blankly from Louis to the sedan and back again. “What? Am I missing something?” His nose is red from the cold and Louis desperately wants to kiss the tip of it.

Later. “That, my dear Harry, is Liam’s car,” Louis explains wryly, delighting in the way Harry’s eyes spark in recognition. “I imagine you were a little too pissed to remember what it looked like the last time you saw it.”

The smile that crosses Harry’s face is one of pure glee. “So Zayn and Liam, eh? Is that a thing now?”

Louis hums, pleased that Harry seems just as invested in Zayn’s love life as Louis is. “Here’s hoping. Let’s see if we can sneak in. Wouldn’t want to disturb them.” With a conspiratorial wink, Louis pulls their hands from his pocket and, keeping them clasped, leads Harry up the stairs to his flat.

The door swings open with the faintest of creaks, bathing the dark hallway in a soft glow and letting a wave of warmed air billow out. Thank goodness Zayn has the heating on. Louis cautiously steps inside, scanning the flat for signs of life.

What he finds instead are Zayn and Liam fast asleep on the couch, the television washing them in flickering blue light. Putting a finger to his lips, he beckons Harry over to take in the sight.

Zayn is leaned against one end of the sofa, feet propped on the coffee table and arms folded across his chest. Liam appears to have fallen asleep sitting up, but gradually slid down onto Zayn’s shoulder in his sleep, Zayn’s head lolling to one side to rest atop Liam’s. Both boys have their mouths slightly open, Zayn’s light puffs of air alternating with Liam’s gentle snores.

It’s entirely too adorable.

Harry must agree, because he pulls out his mobile and snaps a quick photo of the sleeping pair. The smile on his face is wide and fond, his dimples seeming almost cavernous in the long shadows of the TV screen.

Chortling softly, Louis just shakes his head and disappears into Zayn’s room, emerging with Zayn’s comforter in hand. Careful not to disturb either man, he gently covers the sleeping pair with the blanket before grabbing the remote to turn off the TV. He should probably wake them up, put Zayn to bed and send Liam home, but the thought of interrupting their accidental cuddle tugs at Louis’ heart. Besides, he doesn’t want to embarrass either of them, cause them to take two steps back from… wherever accidentally falling asleep on each other is on the relationship scale.

Still moving as quietly as he’s able, Louis tiptoes to the kitchen to heat up their soup. He has a pan on the hob and is digging for a spoon when Harry gently nudges him away from the stove, pointing him in the direction of his bedroom.

“Go on to bed, I’ll finish up,” Harry whispers, bending so that his silky breath laps languidly against Louis’ temple. He chases the words with a kiss, firm and full of portent, Louis’ skin tingling where Harry’s lips press against his forehead. A shudder runs through him from top to toe, and, too drained to argue, he gathers up his blanket and shuffles down the hallway like a child being sent to their room.

His room’s a bit of a tip, far messier than he remembers leaving it, but he can’t be bothered to care at the moment. The state of his bed, however, is another story entirely. The sheets are in desperate need of a washing, and Louis worries that Harry might catch something just from breathing in the space where Louis had spent the first few hours of his illness. With a sigh, he drops his comforter to the floor and goes to work.

That’s how Harry finds him, stripping the bed and pillows, the sudden exertion tiring after laying about for so long. Clucking his tongue, Harry sets the tray—the same one Louis had brought in to Harry all those weeks ago—on the desk, careful not to spill any of the steaming liquid. “Baby,” Harry says sympathetically, placing a hand at the small of Louis’ back. “Why don’t you let me do that? Go take a nice, hot shower.”

Louis leans into the touch, giddy at the endearment that sounds like molten gold rolling off Harry’s tongue. He murmurs his assent, dropping the linens in a heap on the floor and tugging a fresh set out of the closest. Stuffing the clean bedding into Harry’s arms, Louis plants a grateful kiss to his boyfriend’s jaw before he goes.

Louis stands in the shower for ages, head pressed against the cool tile of the wall, letting the hot spray cascade over him. He imagines he can feel the sick being washed away, leaving him as good as new. And he does feel better once he finally steps out into the steamy bathroom, like a real person again instead of death warmed over, but that’s good enough for now. Louis quickly towels off his hair and body, slinging the damp towel securely around his waist and heading back to his room. The shower has opened up his sinuses enough that he’s able to smell the aroma of soup wafting down the hallway, and his mouth is watering just thinking about it.

Harry has the bed made perfectly, far nicer than it’s ever looked. Okay, maybe it had looked that pristine when Louis’ mum helped him move into the flat two years ago, insisting she make his bed up before she left. The top sheet and duvet are folded down evenly, the pillows invitingly fluffed and piled. Louis sighs happily at the mere idea of sliding in between the warm, clean sheets, especially with someone to hold him throughout the night. Or rather, for him to hold onto, since more often than not Harry ends up as the little spoon.

“You’re amazing,” Louis says dazedly, aiming a sleepy smile in Harry’s direction. The brunet is sitting in Louis’ desk chair, already having changed into pyjamas, sipping at his own bowl of soup.

“I wanted to take care of you,” Harry replies simply, shrugging his shoulders. The motion upsets the spoonful of broth in his hand, tipping soup over the side of the bowl and onto his track bottoms. “Shit,” Harry swears, dropping the spoon back into the bowl and pushing the dish onto the desk. He sighs woefully at the stain before flashing Louis an apologetic smile. “Erm, you don’t happen to have another pair of trackies I could borrow, do you?”

Louis watches the way Harry’s thumbs dip under the waistband of the soiled joggers, pulling the fabric low enough that shadows pool in his well-defined v-lines. Louis finds his mouth watering for another reason entirely. He curses his feeble body for being ill when there is a beautiful, ridiculously fit boy who makes his bed and brings him soup in his bedroom, asking to get into Louis’ trousers.

Well, _literally_ get into Louis’ trousers. Not in the shagging sort of way. Louis can pretend, though.

“You can, ah, sleep in your pants,” Louis suggests shyly, toying with the edge of the towel around his hips. He can feel the blood rushing to his face, too embarrassed at the utterance to look Harry in the eye. “I will if you will.”

When Harry doesn’t answer, Louis forces himself to lift his head. Harry is regarding him curiously, lips twisted to the side in an amused smirk. “Okay,” he says in a soft voice. Keeping his eyes on Louis’, he pulls the bottoms down inch by torturous inch, slowly revealing the tight black briefs he’s wearing underneath. In no time at all, the joggers join the mound of laundry spilling out of Louis’ closet, followed closely by his t-shirt, and Harry is sliding into bed with his bowl of soup clutched carefully to his bare chest.

Louis suddenly feels very exposed, standing in the middle of his lamplit room in nothing but a towel. The flush in his cheeks has spread down his neck, making his skin look rose gold in the amber light. Clutching the towel tightly, he ambles over to his dresser, pulling the top drawer open and looking for a clean pair of pants. Knowing his luck, they’re all in the daunting pile of dirty laundry he really should take care of soon.

With a small cry of triumph, Louis finally pulls a balled-up pair of boxers from the drawer. He twists around to look at Harry over his shoulder, catching the younger man’s eyes skimming over his exposed skin. “Don’t look,” Louis warns, scrunching up his face to let Harry know that he means it.

Harry makes a show of clapping his free hand over his eyes, his mouth pulled wide in a laugh. “I’ll try my best. Just hurry, your soup’s going to get cold.”

Sticking out a tongue that Harry doesn’t see through his hand (or at least pretends not to see in the case that he’s peeking), Louis turns around and lets the towel drop to the floor. He hurriedly pulls on the underwear, slipping them over the swell of his bum and letting the elastic snap into place. “Finished!” He announces, kicking the towel toward the closet and pivoting back around.

Harry’s hand is still firmly pressed to his eyes, but he pulls it away slowly once Louis gives the command. His jaw slackens almost imperceptibly, eyes widening for the briefest of moments before he regains his composure. “Um,” he replies, with all the eloquence of a trodden-on dog.

Louis looks down at himself, his body a jumble of curves and edges, all knit together with skin that never completely loses its tan. He’s always been insecure about his somewhat convex stomach, the way his waist nips in tightly only to give way to the full roundness of his arse. “What?” he asks, self-consciously wrapping his arms around his midsection.

“You’re breathtaking,” Harry replies reverently, drinking in the sight of Louis practically glowing in the dim light of the room, as if he holds the light of the sun in the memory of his golden skin.

Louis can’t help but laugh, a brassy sound that comes out far harsher than he intends. He’s mollified by the startled look that overtakes Harry’s features. “Sorry, babe, I appreciate the compliment,” he says, guilty at having dismissed Harry’s adulation in such a rude way. “It’s just… Look, I know I’m nothing special, all right?” He fidgets where he stands, cursing himself for ever suggesting they sleep in only their skivvies. “Besides, you’ve seen me naked before,” he tacks on.

Harry just smiles in that easy way of his, eyes soft as he shakes his head fondly at his boyfriend. “Just because I’ve seen something beautiful once, it doesn’t lose any of its splendor the second time around,” Harry says. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop being surprised at how gorgeous you are.”

It’s cheesy as fuck, and they both know it, but it’s also the nicest thing anyone has ever said to Louis. If it weren’t for being sick and Harry’s nearly full bowl of soup, he’d have flung himself at the younger man by now, covering every inch of skin he could find with kisses.

Instead, he sniffs loudly, trying valiantly not to cry.

“Oh, baby,” Harry whispers, turning to set his bowl on the cluttered nightstand, “c’mere, it’s all right.” He holds his arms wide, inviting Louis in.

Wasting no time at all, Louis crosses the room and curls up in the strong arms of the other man. He doesn’t cry, not really. He’s just so overwhelmed with emotion, with how much he loves Harry, that he has to let something out before he bursts. Harry just rocks him through it, stroking his damp hair and making soft shushing sounds into his ear.

“I didn’t mean to make you sad,” Harry says, once Louis’ breathing evens out.

Louis pulls just far enough away so he can look Harry in the face without leaving the shelter of his arms. “You didn’t,” he replies thickly, swallowing hard against what he’s sure is his heart trying to climb up his esophagus. “You make me feel happier than I ever thought I deserved to.”

A tear tracks down Harry’s cheek at that, and Louis quickly kisses it away. “I love you,” Harry whispers, dragging his thumb across Louis’ lower lip to wipe away the wetness of the tear.

Louis chases the touch, kissing Harry’s thumb lightly, tasting the salt from the teardrop along with the clean flavour of Harry’s skin. “I love you too. Best feedback form I’ve ever gotten,” Louis replies, beaming at Harry through his own tears. And shit, when did he become such a sap?

Harry doesn’t seem to mind, though, pulling Louis tightly back into his arms and cuddling the smaller man close to his body. Louis settles in, warm and content, savouring the feeling of his skin against Harry’s and the love he feels radiating from every fibre of his being.

♠♥♣♦

Come Tuesday, Louis still doesn’t feel up to going to his lectures, and Harry decides to skive off as well. They spend the morning draped over one another in the pale sunlight streaming through the window. It looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day, the sunny, cloud-flecked sky a reminder that spring isn’t too far away.

“Hey,” Louis says, his fingers trailing along the milky shoulder blades of the boy plastered to his front. Harry’s head in all its sleep-mussed glory is resting on Louis’ chest, and he’s nuzzling into the warmth of Louis’ skin, peppering the well-defined collarbones with lazy kisses.

“Hmm?” Harry replies, deep voice vibrating against Louis’ firm pecs.

“Lemme see your phone.”

Harry digs for his mobile among the jumbled bedclothes, handing it over without question. He sighs contentedly as he settles back against the solid warmth of Louis’ chest.

Pressing a kiss into Harry’s curls, Louis unlocks the mobile and opens up Harry’s text messages. He taps one out to Zayn, making sure to attach the photo Harry had sneakily taken the night before.

_tire yourselves out last night ? ;) This is Louis btw x_

He presses send, smirking as he sets the mobile next to his own on the nightstand, Harry’s half-empty soup mug still taking up most of the surface of the small table.

Harry rolls on his side, propping himself up on an elbow to regard Louis curiously. “What was that all about?” Harry asks, his voice still scratchy from sleep. Louis hopes that’s all it is, anyway, and that Harry isn’t coming down with Louis’ flu.

Louis smiles in reply, the skin around his eyes bunching into fine lines as he drinks in the image of the boy in his bed. Harry’s pale skin, flawless and smooth, seems to glow in the daylight creeping further and further into the room. The sheet is pooled around his waist, making it seem like Harry’s completely naked, and, well. _There’s_ a thought.

He surges forward, pressing a kiss to Harry’s nose that makes those sleepy green eyes sparkle in delight. Narrowly avoiding a playful swat, Louis flops back down on his pillow, folding his arms behind his head as he stares smugly up at the damp-stained ceiling. “Oh, just sent Zayn a little good morning text.”

There’s a muffled groan from down the hallway, which Louis takes to mean Zayn has gotten the message. He and Harry lock eyes briefly, Harry’s lips pressed into a stoic line, before both boys erupt in a fit of laughter.

Louis’ phone chimes a moment later, three times in quick succession.

_I hate u so much._

_Why are we friends?_

_I hope u drown in ur tea._

Cackling as he shows Harry the texts, Louis replies with a simple love youuu !! Still giggling, he pulls himself up to a sitting position, twisting from side to side to coax a few pops out of his spine. “Well, what do you say we go see if we can get any good gossip out of dear old Zaynie?” Louis suggests, making a show of wiggling his eyebrows.

Harry shakes his head affectionately, mirth evident in his eyes. “I say I had better go make sure Zayn doesn’t toss you off the balcony,” Harry replies dryly, “but if he does then I get your room.”

With a roll of his eyes, Louis throws the covers off of himself and clambers down from the bed in search of something to wear. “Deal. Now get dressed in case you need to come and scoop me off the pavement. Can’t be saving blokes in your knickers.” That earns him a well-aimed blow with a pillow, but then Harry’s out of bed as well, rifling through Louis’ clothes with no hesitation as he tries to find something to throw on.

They shuffle into the living area of the flat a few moments later, Louis in a vest and cut off trackies and Harry in an old band shirt and Louis’ favourite pyjama bottoms. There’s no sign of Liam, but Zayn has a chair pulled over to the balcony door, cracked just far enough he can hold his cigarette out of the flat.

“Remind me why I shouldn’t murder you,” Zayn mutters sleepily, gracing Louis with a glare through his dark lashes.

Harry stifles a laugh with his hand and ducks into the kitchen, presumably to put the kettle on, so Louis saunters over to Zayn and drapes himself over the back of flatmate’s chair, hugging him from behind. “Because you love me very much, and you want to tell me all about what you’ve been up to while I’ve been ill.”

Rolling his eyes fondly, Zayn shrugs Louis off with an “Okay, fine.” Wearing a satisfied smirk, Louis drags over a second chair and positions himself in front of Zayn, leaning forward with his chin in his hands in anticipation.

“You’re ridiculous,” Zayn says, taking another drag of his cigarette. He contemplates Louis as he slowly releases the smoke from his lungs. “How are you feeling, by the way? You certainly look better than the last time I saw you, dragging yourself down the hallway wearing your duvet like a fucking cape.”

Louis waves a hand dismissively, stirring a few tendrils of smoke that have managed to creep their way into the flat. “Much better, on the mend, don’t change the subject.” He leers at Zayn, scooting his chair a little closer. “I want details, Malik, and I want them now.”

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Zayn puffs at his cigarette once more before stubbing it out in the dirt-filled planter on the floor, kept there for exactly that purpose. Once upon a time, the pot had housed some sort of fern, a housewarming gift from one of Zayn’s sisters. Luckily they’re both better at taking care of themselves than of houseplants.

Zayn’s eyes are half-lidded as he slides the balcony door closed. He stares through the glass at the January sky, his mood seeming to darken with each cloud that passes over the sun. Louis can’t help but notice the way a muscle twitches beneath the stubble of his jaw.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

It’s Louis’ turn to sigh, placing a hand on the dark denim covering Zayn’s knee. “Zaynie,” he says plaintively, his voice soft and rasping in the quiet of their flat. The only other sounds are coming from the kitchen, where god knows what Harry is getting into.

Zayn’s eyes drift close, and when he opens them again they settle on Louis. “He came over to hang out, like we do,” Zayn explains, rubbing his hands over the tops of his thighs. “We played video games and chilled for a bit, decided to watch a little telly. No big deal, right?” Zayn laughs bitterly, rolling his mahogany eyes skyward. “We must have dozed off. When I woke up, he was pulling on his boots and mumbling something about having an early class in the morning.” A pained look crosses Zayn’s face and he reaches for another cigarette. “Didn’t even hug me goodbye. Just grabbed his coat and left.” He lights the cigarette, the embers at the tip flaring to life with the first inhale, and pushes the balcony door open once more. “I didn’t even know he’d been sleeping on me until you sent me that photo.”

Louis pulls a sympathetic face, giving Zayn’s knee a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry, bro. Maybe he was embarrassed? Like, maybe he thinks you don’t like him?” 

“Or maybe he doesn’t like me and didn’t want me to get the wrong idea.” Zayn worries at the lush curve of his bottom lip, the hand not holding his cigarette tapping an anxious cadence on his thigh. “I wish we could have what you and Harry have. You guys make it look so easy, you know?”

With a snort, Louis withdraws his hand from Zayn, folding his arms across his chest. The sound causes Zayn to startle, nearly dropping his cigarette and sending a dusting of ash onto his jeans. As his flatmate rubs the grey smudge out of the dark fabric, he fixes Louis with a questioning stare. 

“It’s not, is the thing.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows, waiting for Louis to elaborate. With a shifty glance toward the kitchen, Louis leans in close and lowers his voice.

“It’s not easy, Zayn. Nothing about it is easy. It was hard for me to let him into my heart. It was hard to convince myself that I’m good enough to be his first boyfriend. It’s hard that I’m out and he’s not.” He takes a deep breath, trying not to get too emotional over the ups and downs of his and Harry’s short, yet incredibly full, relationship. “We’ve had to fight for what we have every single day, had to work at it, and sometimes we both end up so frustrated that I wonder if it’s even worth it.” Tears are pricking at the corners of his eyes, and god when did he become such a cry baby? 

He closes his eyes, grounding himself, remembering the way Harry’s ‘I love you’ had seemed to cut straight through his skin, settling around his heart like a protective cocoon. Like if Louis could just get through this, he’d come out the other side a changed man. 

He’s smiling when he opens his eyes again. Zayn is paying rapt attention, his forgotten cigarette burning down slowly in his hand. “And you know what, Zaynie?”

“What?” Zayn replies, his voice thick as if he feels the waves of emotion emanating off of Louis. 

There’s a loud clatter from the kitchen. Louis smiles fondly as he imagines his klutzy, baby deer of a boyfriend fumbling around in the kitchen. “It is so fucking worth it. Every single minute of it. And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” 

Zayn’s eyes are soft as he lets Louis’ words hang in the air between them. He looks as if he’s about to say something, but the quiet clearing of a throat from across the room has them both twisting in their chairs toward the sound.

Harry is standing in the entryway to the kitchen, leaned up against the doorframe with a spatula in one hand and the other resting on his hip. “Erm, breakfast is ready, if you’re hungry,” he says, voice thick and eyes glassy. He lets his gaze linger on Louis for a few beats with a watery smile before ducking back into the kitchen. The pure love he can sense behind Harry’s eyes makes Louis’ heart stutter in his chest.

“I think he heard you,” Zayn says, Louis not even needing to look at his best friend to know there’s a grin plastered on his face. 

Louis just shakes his head, tossing his messy hair as he climbs to his feet. “Come on, then,” he says, extending a hand to help Zayn stand. “Let’s go see if Harry can actually cook like he says he can.”

Harry can, as it turns out, cook extremely well. Upon entering the kitchen, Louis and Zayn are both presented with plates full of food: A stack of fluffy pancakes, scrambled eggs, and two crispy strips of bacon each. 

“I didn’t even know we had this much food!” Louis exclaims as he takes his plate, mouth watering already.

“You didn’t,” Harry replies, pulling a carton of juice from the fridge. “That’s how I can tell you don’t cook. You haven’t even noticed that I’ve slowly been filling your kitchen up with food besides pot noodles and beer.”

“Hey, those are the cornerstones of our diet!” Louis jokes, mock-offended, as he turns to Zayn for backup. 

Zayn is frowning at the bacon on his plate, mind hard at work behind his sad eyes. _Right, he doesn’t eat pork._ It’s easy for Louis to forget sometimes, and he’s known Zayn for years. Harry’s only known him a couple months, and religion isn’t exactly something they’ve talked about at great length. Louis knows his flatmate doesn’t want to hurt Harry’s feelings by not eating something the younger man had cooked, so he pipes up: “You should have made more bacon, H. I’m going to have to steal Zayn’s.”

He barely has time to see the grateful look Zayn gives him as he reaches for the meat. He never makes contact, though, his hand quickly smacked away by Harry, still wielding the spatula.

“You will leave Zayn’s bacon right where it is. There’s plenty more in the pan. And,” Harry adds, giving Zayn a wink, “it’s turkey bacon. I remembered.”

Eyes wide with surprise, Louis is overcome with how much he loves his boyfriend all over again. Harry had heard Zayn mention that he didn’t eat pork once, at the same panel where he saw Louis for the first time, and yet he still remembered. Depositing his plate on the counter, a few bits of egg spilling over the side, Louis scoops Harry into a tight embrace. “I love you so much,” he whispers against Harry’s throat.

Harry doesn’t reply, just makes a happy sound and presses a kiss into Louis’ hair. Strong arms wrap around Louis’ back to draw them closer together, lips finding one another’s for a brief kiss that says everything Louis can’t at the moment.

Ignoring the sickeningly cute display of affection, Zayn is looking between his plate and Harry in awe. “You’d better, because I fucking love him too,” he says reverently. He grins at the pair of them, eyes scrunched into happy little slits. “Louis, mate, we’re keeping this one.”

♠♥♣♦

Harry stays the night again that night.

Louis’ glad for the company, he really is, but he feels guilty about the quality of sleep Harry must be getting. With his fever rising and breaking, Louis spends most of the night alternating between stealing all the covers and tossing them to the floor. His clogged nose has turned him into a very loud mouth breather, and he’s coughing more often than not.

“I’m disgusting,” he wails, sticking his head under a pillow.

Harry just laughs, tugging the pillow away and thumping Louis with it. “You’re sick, babe. It’s no big deal. I like taking care of you.”

Louis’ sinuses have started to drain, an exciting new development, and he gives a mighty sniff. Harry hands him a tissue without even being asked. “Thanks. I’m a snot monster,” he moans, blowing his nose into the tissue.

“But you’re my snot monster,” Harry coos teasingly, making sure the box of tissues is within Louis’ reach before he lays down.

Smiling as widely as he’s able, amazed that Harry can still find him lovable despite the chapped nose and hacking cough and all the phlegm, Louis tosses the tissue in the bin. “You’re sweet. I’m sorry. I won’t be gross forever.”

“I’d love you even if you were,” Harry replies, pulling Louis down to cuddle him and gently kissing the tip of his nose. “Would you like to hear a joke? Make you feel better?”

Louis is well acquainted with what his boyfriend considers a good joke. Raising his eyebrows, skeptical that anything Harry’s about to say will do any good, he nods cautiously.

Harry’s grinning his head off, nearly laughing at the thought of the punchline of a joke he’s yet to tell. “Okay, great. Here goes.” His eyes are bright and shining. Louis thinks they look like sea glass. Sea glass on the beach. _Annnd the fever must be back._

“How do you make a tissue dance?” Harry asks, practically leering at Louis as he waits for a reply.

Louis just blinks at him, a small wheeze escaping from his lungs. “Erm. I don’t know, babe,” he says, voice hoarse from all the coughing. “How _do_ you get a tissue to dance?”

Not even trying to keep it together any longer, Harry is flat out giggling. “You– you put a little boogie in it,” he manages, cracking himself up.

Chuckling more at his ridiculous boy than the joke, Louis fondly rolls his eyes as he tucks himself closer to Harry. “You’re the silliest boy I’ve ever known,” Louis murmurs, the sound of his open-mouthed breathing loud in the serenity of his little bedroom.

“Yes, but didn’t you know?” Harry whispers back, one hand rubbing soothing patterns into Louis’ back. “It takes a silly boy to fall in love with a snot monster.”

It’s the weirdest, sappiest, sort of most disgusting thing Harry’s ever said, yet somehow it’s also terribly sweet. “Fairy tale romance, that,” Louis replies sleepily, his cough medicine starting to kick in. “Now go to bed, silly boy. I love you.”

Harry kisses along Louis’ hairline, three smacks in quick succession. “And I love you. I can’t wait until I can kiss you on the lips again.” With one more kiss for good measure, Harry rolls over so that Louis can spoon him. “Good night, Lou.”

Only a few minutes later, Louis drifts off to sleep, curled up against Harry’s back and snoring softly.

♠♥♣♦

He wakes up alone.

It takes a bit for him to figure out what’s wrong, why his bed feels too big and cold and empty. He sits up with a start when he realises that Harry isn’t there.

Harry’s side of the bed is cool, like he hasn’t been there for a while. Swiping at his tired eyes, Louis fumbles for his mobile to check the time. He blinks against the glaring light of the screen, squinting to focus on the numbers. It’s just after 2 AM.

Surely Harry didn’t leave him? Maybe Louis was snoring too loudly, or the coughing and blanket-stealing (he did notice that the duvet was completely absent from Harry’s side of the bed) made it too hard for Harry to sleep, so he left. Or maybe he went to sleep on the couch, though why would he have left his pillow?

Deciding to investigate, Louis shoves the covers off of him and slips out of bed, the cool wooden floor making him shiver. He wraps the duvet around himself as an afterthought, putting it over the top of his head and around his body so that just his face is peeking out. Sufficiently snug, Louis creeps out of his bedroom and down the hall, quietly so as not to wake Harry should he be asleep on the couch.

Harry is not asleep on the couch.

Instead, he’s sitting at the kitchen table with his back to Louis, bathed in the glow of his laptop screen. Louis stops in his tracks, head tipped to one side, trying to make sense of the scene in front of him.

“What do you want to know?” Harry asks suddenly, causing Louis’ entire body to tense up. He hadn’t realised Harry was aware of his presence.

Louis opens his mouth to reply but closes it with a click, noticing the headphone cord snaking out from beneath Harry’s curls. Daring to take a step closer, Louis is finally able to make out the image on the screen.

It’s a Skype call, the woman in the chat window bearing a striking resemblance to Harry. Well, that is, if Harry had blonde hair and perfectly manicured eyebrows. Her mouth is moving, the sound confined to Harry’s ears by the headphones.

“I don’t know, Gems. There’s just something about him. He’s different than anyone I’ve ever met.” Another pause. “Just different, I guess. Like, take the most brilliant, fittest boy you know, and then turn up the volume. That’s Louis. He’s like, brighter and more vibrant than everything around him.” Harry leans back in his chair, one arm draped above his head, idly toying with a messy curl. “You know how in old cartoons, you could always tell what was going to move in a scene because it stood out from the background?” The woman on the screen nods in assent. “He’s that for me. He’s more vivid than anything else in my world.”

And that… might be the most beautiful way anyone has ever described Louis. Funny, being a theatre major, he’s always considered himself the leading man of his story. Yet somehow, Harry has just compared him to a prop, a bit of set dressing, and Louis thinks he’d rather be a prop in Harry’s story than play a starring role in his own any day.

Feeling suddenly guilty for listening in, Louis takes a couple steps closer, coughing quietly as he moves. It must be loud enough for Harry to hear despite the earbuds, because he’s twisting in his seat, eyebrows furrowed in concern when he sees Louis.

“Babe? Did I wake you?” Harry asks softly, plucking one of the earbuds out and letting it dangle. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t sleep and I wanted to talk to my sister. I was trying to be quiet.” 

Louis shakes his head, closing the distance between them and bending to kiss Harry’s wrinkled forehead. He feels the worried lines ease underneath his lips. “You didn’t wake me, love. Sorry to interrupt.” His eyes flick to the screen, the blonde woman, Gemma, eyeing them curiously.

Noticing where Louis’ eyes have gone, Harry turns himself back around in the chair. He tugs the other earbud out and removes the cord from the jack, the speakers coming to life with the soft crackle of static. “I guess now’s as good a time as any,” he says, slightly louder now that he’s not afraid of disturbing Louis. “Babe, this is my sister, Gemma.” Gemma gives a pixelated wave on the screen. “Gems, this is Louis, my boyfriend.”

“‘Lo,” Louis says, waving in return. His voice is raspy from sleep, and his heart is swelling in his chest because this is the first time Harry has ever introduced Louis as his boyfriend. _Louis, my boyfriend._ _Louis, my_ boyfriend. _Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend._ Smiling to himself, Louis tucks that particular sound bite away, knowing he can fall back on it until the day Harry’s able to say the words more freely.

“Is this the part where I threaten to kick your arse if you harm one curly hair on my brother’s head?” she asks with a grin, dimples similar to Harry’s adorning her cheeks. Her voice is a smooth, lilting alto, going slightly gravelly at the end of her sentences.

Louis immediately likes her.

He leans in with a smirk, fitting his face in next to Harry’s so that he’s more visible in the camera. “If it is, then this is the part where I promise that I’m very much in love with your brother and would rather kick my own arse than hurt him.” It’s hard to tell, but he thinks he sees Harry’s cheeks go pink in the dim glow of the monitor.

Gemma nods, seeming satisfied. “Excellent. See that you do.” She leans forward, dark eyes reflecting the light of her own screen. “Now, tell me more about yourself, Louis, because H here starts waxing poetic whenever I ask him.”

They chat for a good hour, laughing and trading stories until the silence between topics starts to fill with yawns. Gemma’s eyes drift to the top of her screen as she stifles a yawn with an elegant hand. “It’s getting late. Well, it’s been late, but now it’s starting to get early,” she says with a cheeky smile. “You boys should get some sleep.”

Harry lifts his head from where he has it resting on Louis’ shoulder. “Thanks for the chat, Gems. Love you.”

“It was nice meeting you, we’ll talk soon,” Louis adds.

Gemma just nods, tucking her long, straight hair behind one ear. “Hopefully I’ll get to meet you in the flesh soon. Love you too, Harry. Good night, Louis.” With one more dimpled smile, the call disconnects and Harry and Louis are left in the quiet stillness once more.

Raising his arms above his head, Louis stretches out his muscles, tight from being hunched over in front of the laptop. “She seems really great, Haz,” Louis says, standing and wrapping his duvet around himself once more.

Harry closes his laptop and tucks it under one arm, the other resting on the small of Louis’ back as they make their way back to bed. “She’s the best, really. I couldn’t ask for a more supportive sister.” Harry’s smiling, sneaking sideways glances at Louis as if the other boy won’t catch on.

Louis catches on. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?” he asks with a laugh, reaching from under his improvised cloak to poke Harry in the dimple.

“I’m just so happy that you’re mine and my sister likes you and that you’re mine.” Harry replies, halfheartedly attempting to swat Louis’ hand away. He catches Louis’ wrist instead, stroking the delicate skin there with his thumb.

“You said that bit twice,” Louis laughs, happiness welling up inside him. “But yeah, ‘m all yours, babe. And I quite like her too.” They’ve reached Louis’ bedroom once more.

Without any more warning than the gleam in his eye, Harry scoops Louis up in his arms and carries him into the room, bridal-style, just like he had the day he’d surprised Louis by coming back from break early. Louis doesn’t resist, just giggles madly as he’s deposited unceremoniously on the bed, still tangled in his comforter. “What’d you do that for, you big oaf?” He laughs as Harry flops down next to him.

Harry crawls over him to the other side of the bed, and it strikes Louis how familiar it’s become that they have designated sides. Even when Harry sleeps back in the halls, Louis still doesn’t allow himself to take the middle anymore. Like everywhere else in his life, Harry’s presence has interwoven itself to the point that removing him would require almost surgical precision.

Louis doesn’t plan on removing him anytime soon, though, and as Harry settles down next to him and they tangle their bodies together like it’s second nature, he finds himself thinking of being carried over a different threshold years down the road, the green eyes blinking sleepily at him from across the pillow starting to feel an awful lot like forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, as always. You've all blown me away with how lovely you've been. I have enjoyed getting to talk to some of you, either through the comments here or on tumblr. A couple people have approached me with questions about gender and sexuality, and I want to stress that I am completely here for you if you have any questions or want to talk. I literally did the job Louis has in this fic in college, and Women's and Gender Studies was my major. My ask box is always open. <3
> 
> The post for this fic can be found [here](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com/post/117942696471/both-showing-hearts-by-kiwikero-icanhazzalou). Please consider reblogging it if you're enjoying the story so far! See you next Sunday!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! First off, Happy Mother's Day to all the amazing moms out there! This is my first Mother's Day without mine, so it's gonna be a little rough, but at least I had this update to keep me occupied! <3
> 
> Thanks as always to the lovely Sarah for being the best beta I could ever dream of. She's also a pretty amazing mom, so there's that. ^_^
> 
>  **Warning** for some mentions of violence and derogatory language. Also, there is a super brief mention of a past suicide. Nothing graphic, but just in case.  <3 Take care of yourselves.
> 
> Song for this chapter: "Come On Get Higher" - Matt Nathanson. Full playlist is [here](https://play.spotify.com/user/12159569080/playlist/3sb6QE1bNKN5z3n8pLc6G7).

By Thursday morning, Louis is feeling well enough to go to class. Harry had taken brilliant care of him, staying with him every night of the week and supplying a steady stream of soup and meds and cuddles. So when Louis wakes up, only slightly congested and with no sign of a fever, the first thing he does is pounce on the boy sleeping peacefully next to him.

Harry’s eyes fly open, wide and wild, as he wakes up to the sudden weight of Louis pinning him to the mattress. The shock edges away from his features as his eyes focus on Louis, a sleepy smile lifting the corners of his lips. “Lou,” he rasps, reaching his arms up to encircle the boy on top of him. “You seem like you’re feeling better.”

“So much better,” Louis agrees, breathing through his nose just because he can. He buries his face in Harry’s hair, splayed and tangled on the pillow, and inhales deeply. “And guess what else,” he sings-songs, raising up just enough that he can look Harry in the face.

Harry’s eyes dance with amusement, now fully awake and focused solely on the warm body on top of him. “What else, love?” he asks, sticking his fingers down the back of Louis’ pyjama pants, the tips just brushing the top of his arse.

Grinning devilishly, Louis leans in close, lets his breath lick against Harry’s earlobe in a way that he knows drives the younger man wild. “My fever’s gone,” he murmurs, giving the lobe a gentle lick for good measure.

Before Louis can react, his world goes topsy-turvy and suddenly it’s Harry pinning _him_ to the mattress.

Harry’s leering down at him suggestively, eyes drifting closed as he slowly lowers his face closer to Louis’. Louis claps a palm over his own mouth just in time, Harry looking startled when his kiss finds bony knuckles instead of Louis’ chapped lips.

Jerking back in surprise, Harry blinks down at his boyfriend. “What did you do that for? Were you not implying that it’s okay for me to kiss you again?”

Once Harry is a safe distance away, Louis lowers his hand from his lips, secretly pleased with just how badly Harry wants to kiss him. It’s nice to feel desired, after all. “I was, babe, and I would really like for you to kiss me. But,” he says, placing a hand to Harry’s chest when he starts to lean in once more, “not before we’ve both cleaned our teeth. I don’t fancy my first kiss in a week to taste of morning breath.”

Harry frowns, huffing as he rolls off of Louis, looking every bit like a petulant child. “I wouldn’t mind if _you_ tried to kiss me with morning breath,” he mumbles, pouting as he glares upwards.

Louis just laughs, sitting up and twisting his back from side to side, rewarded with a few clicks as his spine pops. “If only we could all have such low standards,” he teases, laughing even harder at the affronted look that crosses Harry’s face. “Kidding, love.” He gives Harry a gentle push that sends the brunet stumbling out of the bed, only just managing to keep himself from hitting the floor. “Let’s go clean our teeth and then we can pick up where we left off,” he says, giving Harry a little wink as he sashays toward the door. “We have a whole week to make up for.”

♠♥♣♦

Going back to class and work is more exhausting than Louis had anticipated. This term he only has one lecture on Thursdays, Dramaturgy at 11 AM, and then work at the LGBTQ Centre at 1. Today he uses the time in between to dash from one professor’s office to the next, getting his missing assignments and checking to see how far behind he’s fallen. Luckily, he should be able to get caught up over the weekend (providing Harry isn’t too much of a distraction, which Louis supposes would be more his fault than Harry’s).

By the time he makes it to the desk at the Resource Centre, he’s knackered and sweating through his layers of clothing. Spending nearly a week in bed with the flu has sapped his energy, and he can only hope it won’t take him too long to bounce back.

Nick, Lily, and Lily’s girlfriend, Jaz, are the only ones in the Centre when Louis arrives. Lily and Jaz are curled up under the rainbow afghan on the couch, Jaz napping while Lily reads a book and absently tangles her fingers in Jaz’s cropped pink hair. The slender brunette catches Louis smiling at them and gives a little wave, mouthing ‘welcome back!’

‘Thanks, missed you,’ Louis mouths back, plopping down in the office chair and swiveling to face the beast of a computer sitting on the desktop. “I didn’t miss you,” Louis tells the thing, giving the overheated tower a gentle pat. Within hours of booting up, the poor thing is usually so hot it can barely function. Louis envies whoever gets the first shift of the day, when the computer will load things in a reasonable amount of time. Granted, for this particular machine, ‘reasonable’ means five minutes rather than fifteen.

Nick glances over at the sound, looking as harried as always, his quiff drooping from having run his fingers through it too many times. “Nice to have you back, Tommo,” he calls, raising his travel mug in salute. Louis would bet a week's pay that there’s a shot of Bailey’s in that coffee.

“Good to be back,” Louis replies, opening up the Centre’s email account and scanning the OutSpeak folder. There are already four requests for panels this term, one just next week.

Louis sends out the calls for panelists, responds to the professors requesting panels to confirm their chosen dates and times, and is just about to devote the rest of his shift to cleaning out his inbox when someone approaches the desk.

Pasting on a smile automatically, Louis raises his face to the newcomer. “Hello, welcome to the LGBT— _Liam?”_

Sure enough, none other than Liam Payne is standing in front of the desk, backpack slung casually over one shoulder, the opposite hand shoved in a pocket of his stonewashed jeans.

“Hey, Louis,” Liam says nervously, shifting his bag on his shoulder, large brown eyes briefly meeting Louis’ before darting away. “I’ve never actually been in here, even though we’re in the same building, so I thought I’d come check it out.”

His smile much more genuine at the sight of Liam, Louis pushes back from the desk and stands up, stepping around the front so there’s nothing separating him and the other boy. “Glad to have you, mate,” Louis says, reaching out to clasp Liam’s shoulder. Liam is solid and broad beneath the fabric of his red flannel shirt, well-muscled and strong, his build at odds with the large, innocent eyes and teddy bear-like face. “What do you say to a tour, then?”

Liam finally returns a smile, relaxing at Louis’ touch. He nods eagerly and allows Louis to guide him around the small office.

“This is Nick, the Centre coordinator and my boss,” Louis explains as they approach the cluttered mess that amounts to Nick’s desk. Nick glances up briefly with a mumbled hello, doing a double-take once he catches a glimpse of Liam.

"Hello," Nick repeats the word with far more interest, eyeing Liam from head to toe.

“This is Liam, a student,” Louis emphasises, effectively wiping the thirsty look off Nick’s smug face.

Composing himself, Nick reaches out to clasp Liam’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, nice of you to drop by. Just let any of us know if there’s anything we can help you with.”

Louis rolls his eyes at Nick’s canned greeting, thinking Liam is deserving of far more appreciation since he singlehandedly dealt with Zayn’s printing requests the past year. “Liam works at the printing centre. He handles a lot of our print jobs, actually.”

“Oh, so can you explain to me why we got a second order of the flyers I had printed last week?” Nick asks, plucking said flyer from a stack on his desk. “They look amazing, but I requested a hundred copies, and next thing I know Zayn’s showing up a day later with a hundred more.”

Liam and Louis exchange a glance, Louis struck by a sudden coughing fit and Liam regarding him curiously. “I’m certain it was a misunderstanding. I’ll be sure to look into it,” Liam adds slowly, eyebrows knit together as he watches Louis recover.

“Right! On with the tour!” Louis announces, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes from wheezing. He hopes it isn’t too obvious that the coughing was a cover for the laughing fit he would have had otherwise.

Once they’re out of earshot of Nick’s desk, Liam narrows his eyes at Louis. “Zayn is the one who requested that second batch,” he says, his tone mildly accusatory. “He said that you guys had underestimated how many you’d need.”

Louis flinches. He knew this was coming. “Yeah, about that…” He steers Liam to the couch, Lily and Jaz having abandoned it some time ago. Liam’s watching Louis distrustfully but sits anyway, arms folded over the broad span of his chest. Louis perches at the other end of the couch, at the edge of his seat, his knees angled towards Liam.

“So…” Louis begins, hands grasping his own knees.

Liam raises his bushy eyebrows, making his large brown eyes even more puppy-like than they already were. “So?” He prompts, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back into the squashy couch.

Louis sighs. Zayn might never forgive him for what he’s about to do, but then again Zayn also has his head up his arse where Liam’s concerned, and really Louis is just being a good friend, right?

He’s going to go with that, anyway.

“Look, Li,” Louis says slowly, choosing his words carefully. He doesn’t want to make Zayn seem like an obsessive stalker and risk messing up the friendship forming between the two. Although, if Liam didn’t notice Zayn going to the print centre often enough to be on the payroll, well. Maybe he won’t think it was too creepy. He opens his mouth to continue, but Liam speaks before he can.

“This is about Zayn, isn’t it?” He asks, his voice soft and melodic. “About how often he needs printing done?”

Jaw going slack, Louis just stares at Liam, nodding weakly when he finally remembers how to control his muscles.

Liam gives a nod of his own, exhaling as his face relaxes. He stretches his legs out, raising his arms and linking his hands behind his head. “I knew he was coming to see me. I’m not completely oblivious,” he says, eyes tracing the lines of the tiled ceiling.

 _Huh._ “You– you _knew?”_ Louis asks incredulously, voice squeaking on the last syllable. “This whole time? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because he didn’t either,” Liam says, shrugging. “So I figured he wasn’t ready for me to.” He lets his head fall to one side, grinning knowingly at Louis. “That’s the real reason I started showing up to events. Having to print the calendar—five times, might I add—was just an excuse.” He laughs, the sound bright and bubbly, his mouth open wide enough to show his tongue pressed up behind his bottom teeth. “At this point it’s just waiting for him to stop being afraid to tell me how he feels. I could tell him first, I suppose, but that would ruin all my fun.”

Louis is flat out gaping at Liam now, his mind scrambling to make sense of it all. “You’re like, an evil mastermind, did you know that? In a teddy bear suit.” He shakes his head, still trying to process this new information. “The _whole time._ Jesus.”

They sit in silence for few minutes, Liam leaning the other way over the couch to run his fingers along the spines of the books stuffed into the cases lining the wall. They contain everything from novels with LGBTQ characters, to books by queer authors, to non-fiction works and biographies. Liam’s perusing the non-fiction section, names like Butler and Fausto-Sterling and Foucault in tidy letters on cracked spines. He pauses now and then, mouth silently forming a few of the titles as if he’s surprised such books exist.

“You’re new to all this, aren’t you?” Louis asks softly, regretting the way it makes the other man jump.

Liam pulls himself away from the books, both feet flat on the floor now and hands tangled loosely in his lap. “New to what?” he mumbles, but Louis can see the way the muscles of his jaw are working underneath the layer of stubble dusting his rounded face, possibly indicating the conversation is about to get a lot more serious.

Louis scoots a little closer, close enough that when he stretches his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers just graze Liam’s solid shoulder. “This.” He gestures around vaguely with the hand not touching Liam. “The books and the rainbows and drag shows. People getting together to celebrate their sexuality. Having a safe place to go.”

He doesn’t respond, but the way Liam’s head droops tells Louis everything he needs to know.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Louis asks gently, watching the way Liam’s chest inflates rapidly as his breathing picks up speed, a slight tremble shaking his shoulder underneath Louis’ fingertips.

Liam’s dark eyes are wet and round when he looks up, the skin around them already going pink as if he’s trying desperately not to cry. “I wasn’t allowed to like boys, you know,” he begins, his already soft voice barely audible. He swallows hard. “I’m from a small town, and just—it isn’t done there, okay? There was a boy the year ahead of me in school, Tyler, and he was… you know,” Liam trails off, as if the word ‘gay’ is a swear he shouldn’t say out loud.

Louis nods in understanding, motioning for Liam to continue. He may be loud and obnoxious ninety per cent of the time, but never let it be said that Louis Tomlinson isn’t a damn good listener when he needs to be.

Sucking in a breath, Liam’s eyes go skyward before he carries on with his story. “His parents found out. Sent him away to some kind of reparative therapy. Reparative? Is that even a word?” He laughs, the sound coming out bitter and strained. “Needless to say, it didn’t work. He still fancied blokes when he came back, only then he blamed himself for not changing.” He turns to Louis, visibly shaken. “He killed himself, Lou. He just wanted to be happy, and for him that meant loving other boys, but when people found out, it got so bad that he didn’t want to live anymore.” Liam’s openly weeping now, and Louis feels his own cheeks growing wet as well, his heart breaking for the boy sitting beside him on the sofa.

Taking a few slow, shuddery breaths to calm down, Liam digs the palms of his hands into his eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears. “I couldn’t let that happen, you know? I didn’t want to end up like Tyler. So I got a girlfriend and never said a word to anyone else.” He smiles at Louis, wan and watery though it may be. “Even had myself fooled for a bit, if I’m honest. At least, until Zayn came along with his stupid eyelashes and his stupid cheekbones and his stupid tattoos.”

They both laugh at that, the bubble of tension ballooned around them deflating somewhat. Louis wipes at his own cheeks with the sleeve of his jumper, a big, lilac thing he’d nicked off of Harry. “Don’t feel too bad, mate,” Louis says, still laughing. “I’ve seen many a straight boy question themselves when Zayn Malik steps into the room.”

Liam’s smile falters and he ducks his head, teardrops clinging to his long, dark lashes. “I’m not, though,” he says plaintively. “Straight, that is. I’ve known for quite some time. And it scares the piss out of me.”

Snagging the rainbow afghan from where Lily had left it on the back of the couch, Louis scoots right up next to Liam and wraps it around both of their bodies. Liam’s hesitant at first, but eventually leans into the contact, lets his head rest on Louis’ shoulder as he sniffles.

“Whatever it was like for you back home, that isn’t how it is here,” Louis murmurs, stroking the back of Liam’s neck with his thumb. “Here, being gay isn’t something that isolates people. It brings us together. That’s why we have events like Coming Out Week, and Pride Month later this semester, and Trans Day of Remembrance. We take the shit that the rest of the world has heaped on us and use it as a rallying point, a reason to come together as a community and build each other up.” He gives Liam a gentle squeeze. “It’s about finding a support network, a chosen family, just in case your other family can’t see what a treasure you are.”

Liam pulls out of their embrace, leaning away so that he can look Louis straight in the face, full lips parted. His eyes, red and puffy and almost hazel from crying, remind Louis so much of the way Zayn’s get. “That was beautiful,” he says simply, staring at Louis as if the older man has suddenly sprouted wings.

It’s too much, too heavy for a Thursday afternoon in the middle of campus, but Liam needed to hear it, and that’s Louis’ job. Now, though, it’s nearly time for the Centre to close, and Liam already seems to be breathing easier, so Louis defaults to his usual method of lightening the mood. “Thanks, been rehearsing it for ages. Just needed a fit boy to come have a cry on my shoulder so I could woo him with my eloquence,” Louis says, adding a wink for good measure.

And just like that, Liam’s laughing and then Louis’ laughing and suddenly the world doesn’t seem quite as heavy.

There’s a soft _ahem_ from across the room, Nick peering cautiously around a bookshelf. Louis had forgotten he was there, and, judging by the deer-in-the-headlights look on his face, so had Liam.

“I hate to interrupt, but it’s time for me to lock up,” Nick says apologetically. He makes sure to catch Louis’ eyes, raising a questioning brow. It’s a look Louis knows well, one that means he’ll stay as late as necessary if someone’s in need.

Liam seems to be doing okay, though, so Louis gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Oh, wow, look at the time!” he cries, leaping off the couch and flinging away the blanket. “I totally forgot that I had important plans of getting takeaway and playing Fifa tonight!” He rounds on Liam, the larger man extracting himself from where he’d sunk into the couch cushions. “You in, mate? Harry is staying at his tonight so I could use the company.”

Liam blinks, looking taken aback, but almost instantaneously his entire face is crinkling up into a radiant smile, eyes barely more than slits. “Yeah, I’d like that,” he replies, slinging his bag back onto his shoulder.

Louis just beams back, but then Nick’s shooing both of them out the door without another word.

♠♥♣♦

By the time Zayn pushes through the door to their flat, Liam and Louis are both intently focused on a round of Mario Kart, beer bottles and Chinese takeaway surrounding them like some sort of bachelor fairy circle. Liam is winning, and Louis is not happy about it. He’s sitting on the very edge of the sofa, tongue poking out of his mouth as he glares at the figures going around the track on the screen.

Louis takes the lead in the last lap, but Liam beats him anyway, taking out Louis’ character with a well-timed red shell. Tossing the remote aside and muttering curses, Louis finally turns to greet Zayn. “Hey, Zayner. You want in the next round?”

Zayn is still standing just inside the door, looking wordlessly at the two boys seated on the couch. “Erm,” he replies.

“C’mon, Zayn! Louis isn’t giving me much of a challenge at all,” Liam says with a laugh, pulling Louis into a jovial headlock and ruffling his toffee-coloured hair.

Blinking at them slowly, Zayn turns and pads down the hall without a word, his retreating footsteps followed by the sound of his bedroom door being forcefully closed. The ominous noise is at odds with with cheerful background music of their game, playing on a loop on the menu screen.

Liam twists to face Louis, forehead lined with worry. “Did we do something wrong?” he asks, sounding like scolded child.

With a troubled sigh, Louis pushes himself up off the couch. “No. You didn’t, anyway,” he amends. “I probably should have warned him you’d be here. I’ll be right back, okay?”

He starts after Zayn but Liam catches his arm as he goes, stopping Louis in his tracks. “Hey,” Liam says quietly, his grip on Louis’ arm gentle and firm at the same time. “Don’t tell him what we talked about earlier, right? About how I feel or anything.”

Smiling fondly, Louis gives a reassuring nod, and Liam lets his hand slide off of Louis’ arm.

Louis pushes into Zayn’s room without knocking. His flatmate is curled up on his side in bed, still fully dressed and on top of the covers, facing the wall. “Go away, Louis.”

So dramatic, Louis thinks, rolling his eyes affectionately before joining the pitiful lump of his best friend on the bed. “Hello to you too. Want to talk about it?”

Zayn rolls over onto his back with a groan, glaring up at the ceiling like it personally offended him. “You could have warned me Liam would be here. It wasn’t cool to spring it on me like that.” He shifts his gaze to Louis, pouting. “You would’ve been pissed if I had done that to you with Harry, back when you were still mooning over him.”

With a laugh, Louis replies, “No I wouldn’t have. I was trying to set you two up, remember?” Zayn’s resolve breaks with that, laughing along with Louis. “Anyway,” Louis continues, pleased to see his friend smiling again, “Liam and I are mates. I promise I had no ulterior motives in inviting him over. We’re just getting to know each other, that’s all.”

Louis can tell Zayn isn’t convinced, the other man eyeing him warily. “You and Liam have nothing in common. Why the sudden urge to hang out?”

“I think we have a lot more in common than you think,” Louis says and pinches Zayn’s cheek, much to the other man’s displeasure. “Also, if my best mate is so taken with him, I think I should get to know him a little better.”

Louis hoists himself up, Zayn delivering a well-deserved elbow to Louis’ ribs once he’s upright. “All right, all right. Just no meddling, okay? If this is going to happen, I want it to be on my terms.” He looks down at himself, black t-shirt and ripped skinny jeans, before glancing back to Louis. “Do I look all right?”

Grinning, Louis stands and holds out a hand for Zayn, pulling his flatmate to his feet. “I think even if you didn’t, it would look suspicious as hell if you decided to change because one of your mates is over. Now come on, I need to kick Liam’s arse at Mario Kart before he gets a big head about it.”

“What, you mean like you have?” Zayn asks, smirking as he follows Louis out of the room.

“Exactly.”

♠♥♣♦

Several rounds of Mario Kart later, all three of them are shoved together on the sofa, cursing loudly whenever their character hits a banana and cheering when they take the lead. For awhile Zayn and Louis gang up on Liam, not caring who wins as long as he doesn’t, until he catches on and refuses to race unless they promise to play fairly. They do, but it only lasts until Liam’s next win, the duo spending the following race doing nothing but pelting him with shells and trying to knock him off the track.

The volume level in the flat is so loud that they barely hear the pounding on the door. Zayn quickly pauses the game, looking quizzically in Louis’ direction.

Louis shrugs, ear tilted at the door, when the knock sounds again. “Were we expecting anyone?” he asks, tossing his controller on the coffee table and slowly approaching the door. More than likely it’s one of their neighbours, annoyed at the steady stream of curses no doubt audible through the poorly insulated walls.

He’s expecting to see one of the postgraduate girls who lives in the flat below theirs, or maybe the quiet international student from down the hall, when he opens the door.

What he isn’t expecting, however, is an armful of Harry Styles.

Once Harry sees who opens the door for him, he flings himself at Louis, gripping tight enough to knock the wind from Louis’ lungs. Harry’s face is red and blotchy, wretched sobs coming in gasps from his trembling body.

Dumbstruck, Louis wraps his arms around Harry and pulls him into the flat, shutting the door between them and any nosy neighbors. Still awkwardly embracing Harry, he casts a glance over his shoulder to where Zayn and Liam are still sitting on the couch, twin looks of wide-eyed worry looking back at him. Louis gives them a helpless shrug before trying to herd his distraught boyfriend to the sanctuary of his bedroom.

Even when he sits them both down on the bed, Harry’s grip around his middle is unyielding. “Baby, what’s wrong?” Louis asks, stroking Harry’s windswept hair. He’s trying to keep the panic out of his voice, but he doesn’t succeed terribly well. “Are you hurt? Is your family okay?”

Harry only shakes his head and cries harder. Unsure of what to say, Louis just lets him, holds Harry while he cries himself out until the sobs become little whimpers, Louis’ shirt drenched from where Harry has buried his face in the fabric.

Once he feels Harry’s hold on him relax just a teeny bit, Louis gently pries himself away and lifts Harry’s wobbling chin with one finger. “Hey, hey, there you are,” he whispers soothingly, cradling Harry’s face in his hands and kissing over the tear tracks down his cheeks. “Talk to me, love.”

A little hiccough escapes Harry throat, and it would be cute if the curly-haired boy didn’t look so impossibly sad. “Can I just stay here tonight?” he asks, his voice rough from crying so hard for so long.

Louis blinks, surprised that Harry feels he even has to ask. “Of course, Haz, of course you can.” He pulls Harry closer to him and kisses the top of his head, Harry’s thumping heart finally slowing to a normal pace where their bodies are pressed together. “Let’s get comfortable, yeah? We can talk later.”

It’s too early to go to sleep, but still they strip in silence, down to their underwear, and Harry’s back in Louis’ arms the moment they’re horizontal. Louis wraps himself around the taller boy, fitting his chin over the top of Harry’s head, tracing gentle patterns into the bare skin of Harry’s back. He stays awake until he feels Harry go lax in his arms, drifting off himself to the slow, even drag of Harry’s breathing and the occasional mewl that makes Louis’ heart clench with worry.

When Louis blinks slowly awake some time later, it’s dark outside. He grabs his phone from the nightstand, ducking under the duvet to check the time so the light won’t disturb the boy still sleeping soundly beside him. It’s just after 11 PM, meaning they’ve only been asleep for a few hours.

Straining his ears, Louis listens for signs of life beyond his bedroom door, but the rest of the flat seems to be quiet and still.

 _Are you awake ? did Liam go home ?_ Louis texts to Zayn, wondering how the rest of their evening had gone once Louis disappeared to care for Harry.

Zayn responds a few beats later.

_Decided to hang at his! Drinkkking so ill probs stay over. Take care of H x_

Smiling and shaking his head, Louis sends back a simple _be safe xx_ before returning his phone to the bedside table. It clatters louder than Louis had anticipated, and in the stillness of the room the sound is enough to have Harry wrenching open a bleary eye and frowning at him.

“Lou? Time is it?” Harry asks, hoarse and drowsy. He rubs at his eyes with balled fists, the skin around them still swollen from all the crying.

Louis rolls back over and kisses the tip of Harry’s nose. “Just past 11, love. Did you have a nice little nap?” Harry nods sleepily, yawning widely. “Do you want to go back to sleep, or are you ready to tell me what happened?”

Harry’s voice is small when he responds. “I’m ready to talk, I think,” he says, sounding rather uncertain, but Louis just cuddles him closer and waits, wanting Harry to go at his own pace.

Even in the dark Louis can tell that Harry’s eyes are glossy with tears already, but the younger man clears his throat and begins to speak.

“So, I hadn’t been home since you had that run-in with Thad, right?” Harry asks, knowing the answer, but Louis nods anyway. “Well, he was waiting for me when I got out of class tonight. Derek too. They were so angry. Thad pushed me up against the wall, and told me that he knew I’d had a boy sleep over, and that—” he swallows thickly. “that my ‘fucking faggy mates’ weren’t welcome in our flat.” He winces as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Sorry, just quoting him.”

“It’s okay,” Louis says, though his mouth has gone dry and his heart is racing. He can easily picture Harry, scared out of his mind and backed into a corner, the two bullies looming over him. _And it’s all because of me._ He tries to push down the guilt, focus on Harry’s feelings, but he can feel it creeping back into his thoughts immediately.

“And then Derek asked if you were at the charity match, and if I had been with you.” His eyes spill over, fat tears running down his face and pooling where his head meets the pillow. “The men, the ones who were rude to us… They’re his _friends,_ Lou. Derek was there. They all laughed about it afterward, he just didn’t know one of the ‘fucking fairies’ was me.” He explains, his voice breaking at the end.

And the realization hits Louis like a tonne of bricks. Of course he hadn’t recognized him, he’d only met Derek once before, but now it’s as if he’s watching a slow motion replay of that night at the rugby match. He can see the two men stumbling towards their friends, hear their jeering laughter, remembers one of their group turning and meeting Louis’ eyes.

It had been fucking _Derek._

“Oh, babe,” Louis breathes, his chest clenching so tightly that it’s painful. “This is all my fault. I’m so sorry,” he chokes back a sob, feeling the tears come for the second time that day. “What did they do?”

Harry sniffs. “They told me I was disgusting, and that I wasn’t welcome there, and that if they ever caught me in the flat by myself they were going to teach me a lesson. Luckily Niall was there tonight, he told them to back the fuck off, otherwise I think they were going to hit me.” He lifts up his arm, showing Louis four dark, evenly spaced marks dotting the back of his tricep.

Unable to believe his eyes in the darkness, Louis reaches out and switches on the lamp. Harry’s pupils constrict to tiny specks of black in the middle of a sea of green, but Louis is more focused on the marks on his arm. “Are those…?” He can’t bring himself to say it, stomach dropping at the mere thought of anyone laying a hand on someone as gentle and kind as Harry.

“Bruises, yeah,” Harry affirms, lowering his arm and curling in on himself, knees pulled up against his chest. “I was so scared, Lou. I don’t know what would have happened if Niall wouldn’t have been home.”

Louis’ mind is reeling, panic and fear and anger fighting for dominance. He roughly pulls Harry up against him, planting kiss after kiss to Harry’s face, as if his lips can chase away the pain etched on those beautiful features.

“But he was there, and you can stay here as long as you like, and I’m going to make those arseholes pay for laying a finger on you,” Louis vows, sealing each phrase with a kiss, like a promise.

Harry jerks away, sitting up and shaking his head wildly. “No, no, you can’t,” he gasps, eyes gone so wide that the whites are clearly visible around his irises. “It’ll be worse if they find out I told, please, Louis.” His voice is high and cracks with desperation. “Please, promise me,” he begs, seeming to stare straight into Louis’ soul with his imploring gaze.

Sitting up as well, Louis takes Harry’s hands in his own, dragging his lips across the knuckles of both hands. “I promise,” he says reluctantly, watching Harry sag with relief at the vow. “But babe, why? Why let them get away with it?”

“There are only a few months left in the term, and next year Niall and I can move somewhere else. I don’t want this to be a bigger deal than it already is,” Harry pleads, eyes darting back and forth between each of Louis’. “We can get my things in the morning, and I can text Niall if I need to go there for any reason, and I was practically living here anyway.” He’s rambling in his panic, anxious to get Louis to agree to his terms. It fucking breaks Louis’ heart to see him this way.

Face going soft, Louis pulls Harry in for a gentle hug, different from the desperate clutches earlier on. “Of course, H. Whatever you need, my love,” he assures his boyfriend, trying to convince himself it’s the right thing to do. That this is Harry’s fight, and Harry’s choice as to how it’s handled, and his job is just to be as supportive as possible.

“I love you,” Harry says brokenly, his lips pressed tightly against Louis’ throat.

“Love you too,” Louis replies, breath hitching when he feels teeth graze along the pulse point under his ear. “Harry…”

Harry nips again, slightly harder, before licking at the spot with firm swipes of his tongue. “Hmm?” he inquires, the sound a pleasant vibration against Louis’ sensitive neck.

“You sure you’re feeling up to this, love? We can just cuddle,” Louis offers, eyes fluttering closed at the drag of Harry’s lips down the column of his throat. When Harry reaches Louis’ collarbone, he sucks a love bite into the delicate skin over the firm ridge of bone.

“‘M sure,” Harry says once he pulls away, admiring his work. He presses a finger into the center of the purpling mark, making Louis groan with how electric the skin there feels. Everywhere, really.

Louis wastes no time fitting his mouth to his boyfriend’s, swallowing the moan that Harry utters at the first slide of slick lips. He gently pushes Harry back, coaxing their bodies down on the bed, until he’s hovering over the taller man. His bangs fall over Harry’s forehead, caramel on chocolate, and Louis deepens the kiss eagerly.

Harry, always so responsive, kisses back just as hard, his tongue tangling with Louis’ as his short nails dig little crescents into the skin of Louis’ back. The little points of pain only heighten his arousal, every nerve ending in his body seeming to be on high alert. He slots a knee between Harry’s spread legs, forcing them even further apart, before applying pressure to Harry’s crotch with a muscular thigh.

The sensation against his growing erection has Harry crying out, breaking the kiss to pant in the air just millimetres from Louis’ wanting mouth. The brunet gives Louis a pleading look, canting his hips upward in search of friction, and Louis is more than happy to oblige.

He makes quick work of his pants first, then Harry’s, the boy underneath him obediently lifting his bum so that Louis can slide the garment off of him with ease. And when there’s nothing more between them than empty space and need, they come crashing back together like magnets slamming home.

The heat behind Harry’s kiss and the delicious drag of bare skin on skin has Louis fully hard in no time, his cock trapped between their bodies alongside Harry’s. Louis grinds down experimentally, both boys gasping at the sensation, both hungry for more.

Unable to keep his hands off of Harry any longer, Louis rolls to one side, reaching down to wrap a hand around Harry’s erection. The tip of Harry’s dick is slick with precome, which Louis spreads over the head, easing the slide as he gives Harry a few gentle tugs.

Harry’s whimpering again, this time with pleasure instead of tears, thrusting up into the contact. “Lou, please,” he gasps, as Louis tightens his grip ever so slightly around his boyfriend’s leaking cock.

“What do you want, baby?” Louis whispers, craning his neck so that his lips are pressed against Harry’s temple, the hairs there already damp with a fine sheen of sweat. “I want to make you feel so good.”

Harry chokes on a moan as Louis pulls him off, meeting the older man’s hand stroke for stroke. “God, Louis,” he gasps, lolling his head to the side to press a quick kiss to Louis’ between pants. “I want you inside me,” he manages, eyes screwing shut as Louis pays particularly close attention to his sensitive cockhead.

As soon as the words are out of Harry’s mouth, Louis goes still. It takes a beat, two, for what Harry said to sink in, Harry whining and rutting upwards at the lack of motion in the meantime.

“Harry, babe,” Louis says slowly, his deep breaths coming in shudders. “Are you sure? That’s a pretty big step, and you’ve had a really emotional day.” The thought of Harry’s legs wrapped around him, tight and hot, has heat licking up Louis’ abdomen, but he quells the image while he waits for Harry’s response.

And god, he’s so beautiful, all wide eyes and tousled hair, chewing nervously at his bottom lip. He somehow looks so innocent and debauched all the same time, and Louis finds that very, very hot.

“I’m ready,” Harry replies firmly, holding Louis’ gaze, though there is a faint blush rising in the apples of his cheeks. “I have been, but you were ill. Please,” he says lustily, a hand on the back of Louis’ neck to draw their faces closer together. “I want you, I love you, and I really, really need you to fuck me.”

The words seem to go straight to Louis’ dick. He closes the distance between them once more, greedily sucking Harry’s tongue into his mouth, the kiss filthy and hot and just a hint of things to come.

When Louis pulls away they’re both gasping, Harry’s already full lips swollen and bruised from the force of the kiss. His green eyes are dark with desire, and just seeing the effect he has on the brunet has Louis’ head swimming. “I’m going to go really slow, okay?” He murmurs, kissing the corner of Harry’s mouth. “And you’re going to stop me the minute something doesn’t feel right, or you change your mind, or anything. Okay?” He meets Harry’s gaze imploringly.

“I promise. Please,” Harry urges, tangling a hand in Louis’ hair and tugging gently.

Louis practically purrs at the sharp sensation against his scalp, repaying the favour by trailing kisses down Harry’s body. He works down over Harry’s dewy neck, across his heaving chest, lifting Harry’s arm over his head so he can clearly see the row of fingerprint-shaped bruises marring the milky skin there.

Harry’s eyebrows draw together. “What are you—”

“Shh,” Louis whispers into his skin, covering the first bruise with his mouth, gently sucking until it’s hidden under a mark of his own. He gives the other three the same treatment, the stains of fear and violence now completely concealed by ones of love, as if Louis could erase the bullies’ touch with his mouth.

“Louis,” Harry whispers, his voice choked with emotion.

“I’m not going to let them hurt you ever again,” Louis promises, leaning back up to reclaim Harry’s mouth once more. He continues mapping Harry’s body with his tongue and lips, learning the places that make him gasp and others where the muscles jump underneath his touch, commits every freckle and scar and line to memory.

When Harry is practically writhing underneath him, each press of Louis’ lips sending him into a pleasured frenzy, Louis reluctantly pulls away. Harry is so sexy like this, twisted in the sheets, naked and practically glowing with perspiration, and it’s all Louis can do to keep himself in check. Harry deserves a slow, gentle, perfect first time, and that’s what he’s going to get.

But damn, if Louis doesn’t want to absolutely wreck him in the process.

Detaching his lips from the bruise he’s sucking with a groan, Louis shimmies up the length of Harry’s body so that he’s at the head of the bed once more. Harry’s looking at him with wide, curious eyes, chewing at his lower lip coyly, and Louis can feel himself flush as he tugs open the drawer of the bedside table. “We need, ah, supplies,” he says lamely, snatching his lube from the cluttered drawer, digging around for a condom that isn’t either glow-in-the-dark or root beer flavoured (they were joke gifts, okay?). Supplies in hand, Louis tosses them to the foot of the bed, hovering over Harry once more and resting his forehead against the younger man’s.

“I love you,” Louis says, the words feeling far too large for his mouth and his heart and his body, but at the same time not near large enough for the incredibly wonderful boy in his arms.

“I love you, Louis,” Harry breathes, shivering, whether from nerves or excitement Louis isn’t sure.

Louis searches Harry’s eyes, looking for any sign of trepidation, and when he finds none he slides back down Harry’s lanky body to settle between his thighs. He’s nervous, is the thing. He’s never been someone’s first before. And being Harry’s first seems like such an honour, a privilege, and Louis’ never wanted to be good at something so bad in his entire life.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Harry peers curiously down at Louis as he uncaps the bottle of lube. The slick drizzle is cold on his fingertips so he waits, letting his body warm the gel. “Have you ever… you know,” Louis asks, feeling awfully sheepish for someone nestled between his boyfriend’s legs, “fingered yourself before? So you know what to expect?”

Harry’s eyes dart away, lips pulled into a little pout. He looks ashamed. “Not really, no,” he admits, fingers toying with the edge of the sheet below him. “I started to, once, but it felt weird, so I stopped.”

“It might feel a little weird at first,” Louis assures him, stroking Harry’s hip with his unlubed hand. “But then it will stop feeling weird and start feeling amazing. And if it doesn’t, then we’ll stop.” He gives the skin over Harry’s hipbone a little squeeze, enough to make Harry look him in the eyes. “Not everyone likes it, and it’s perfectly okay if you don’t, and it won’t make me love you any less.”

He can practically see Harry relaxing, as if that’s exactly what the other boy needed to hear. A smile on his face once more, Harry gives a small nod, eyes shining in the lamplight, or maybe putting out a light of their own. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Louis grabs a spare pillow and slides it under Harry’s small bum, raising the brunet’s hips for better access. Slowly, carefully, he pulls Harry’s arse cheeks apart, and brushes the lightest touch of his finger against Harry’s hole.

The contact makes Harry gasp, jerking away slightly. “Sorry, sorry,” he mutters, embarrassed. “Keep going, please.”

Undeterred, Louis brushes over the tight ring of muscle again, stroking it, getting Harry used to the idea of someone touching him there. His strokes are gentle yet firm, and it isn’t long before Harry’s pushing his hips into the contact, eager for what comes next.

“I need you to relax for me, baby,” Louis says, applying the tiniest amount of pressure with the tip of his finger. Harry nods, taking a deep breath, and on the exhale Louis pushes in.

He gets it in to the first knuckle, Harry’s body resisting every bit of the way. The other boy’s eyes fly open as he involuntarily bears down, and Louis’ finger slips right back out.

“God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Harry wails, hands flying to cover his face.

“Don’t be sorry, love, you’re doing so well,” Louis assures him, bending to press a kiss next to Harry’s navel. “Everyone has a first time, right? You’ve never done this before. It’s okay.” Another kiss, a gentle suck, leaving a behind a red mark in the shape of Louis’ mouth. “Do you want to try again?”

Harry nods, still hiding behind his hands. “Yes.”

“All right, then. This time I want you to push against my finger, okay?” he asks, applying more lube, probably more than necessary, but he’s not taking any chances.

“Okay.”

This time when he pushes in, he can feel Harry hesitate before pushing back, his body opening slowly around Louis’ finger and allowing it to slide deeper inside. Harry’s breathing hitches, his eyes screwed tightly shut, but already Louis can feel him relaxing around the intrusion.

Staying perfectly still, kneading Harry’s thigh with his other hand, Louis asks, “How does that feel, love? You okay?”

Harry’s eyes slowly open, fixed on the ceiling. “Yeah, okay,” he replies, voice shaking only a little. “Like, it’s a bit uncomfortable, and a bit weird, but also a bit good?”

“Just wait, it feels a lot good, I promise,” Louis says with a laugh. “I’m going to move a little. I want you to tell me when you’re ready for more.”

He pulls the finger out slowly, so slowly that it barely feels like he’s moving at all, and pushes back in at a similar pace. Harry doesn’t flinch away this time, and even though he’s still far too tight, he takes Louis’ finger easier this time around. By the next repetition, he’s pushing back against Louis’ hand, his breathing picking up as he adjusts to having something inserted in his bum.

“I think I’m ready,” Harry announces breathlessly after a while, and Louis slides his finger completely out to add more lube.

“The second one may hurt a bit,” Louis warns, slicking up his hand, “but I’m going to distract you.”

“Oh?” Harry quirks up an eyebrow as he watches Louis prepping his fingers. “And how’s that?”

Without a word, just a challenging smirk and a cheeky lift of his brows, Louis dives down and sucks the tip of Harry’s penis into his mouth. Harry’s erection has waned a bit, the concentration of relaxing around Louis’ finger taking the edge off his arousal, but it’s quickly filling once more as Louis swirls his tongue around the head.

He breeches Harry’s hole once more at the same time as he swallows Harry’s dick as far as he’s able. Harry cries out, but not in pain, taking the two fingers incredibly well as Louis eases them further and further into Harry’s body, worshipping the other boy’s cock with his mouth all the while.

Harry thrusts up into Louis’ wet mouth, nearly gagging him, and forcing his fingers deeper inside. “Shit, sorry!” he cries as Louis pulls back, sputtering.

“It’s okay, Haz, stop apologizing,” Louis says gently, once he’s recovered. Harry’s body is a slick, tight heat around his fingers and he’s luxuriating in the way it feels to be inside of him. If it feels this amazing around his fingers… Well. His mind might short-circuit a tad if he tries to imagine anything more.

He’s got a steady pace going now, working Harry open slowly but surely, taking each one of Harry’s moans as encouragement to be a little more bold. He crooks his fingers on the next thrust, and knows instantly when they connect with Harry’s spot.

“Oh fucking hell!” Harry gasps, looking at Louis in wide-eyed wonder. “Oh, please do that again.”

Happy to oblige, Louis keeps his fingers bent, nailing Harry’s prostate on every thrust until Harry is arching off the bed. His wrist aches a little from the angle, but god, he doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of fingering Harry.

“I’m gonna add one more, okay, babe?” he warns, watching his fingers disappearing beyond the stretched pink rim of Harry’s arse. He scissors his fingers in preparation, before nudging a third finger up against Harry’s hole.

Harry’s pressing back before Louis can even blink, taking in all three fingers with a cry. “God, Louis, I want you so bad,” he nearly sobs, clenching so tightly around Louis’ digits that it’s nearly painful.

He twists his fingers again, spreading them as much as he’s able, his free hand digging into the meat of Harry’s thigh. “You think you’re ready, love?”

“Yes yes yes,” Harry chants without hesitation, bucking his hips up to meet Louis’ hand. “Please, Lou, please,” he begs.

Overcome with need to be inside Harry, _now,_ Louis pulls his fingers free with a broken groan. He wastes no time finding the condom and tearing into the wrapper with his teeth, catching sight of Harry lazily tugging at his cock out of the corner of his eye. The visual has his own neglected dick throbbing, he’s so fucking hard, and there’s no way he’s going to last very long.

He rolls the condom over his leaking prick with gusto, relishing the brief friction, before lubing himself up. Harry’s just watching him as he wanks, chewing at his lip in that kitten-like way that he does, and it’s taking every ounce of control Louis possesses not to just bury himself to the hilt right then and there.

Instead, he shifts forward on his knees, taking his aching cock in one hand and lining himself up with Harry’s hole. “I’m serious, Haz,” he says softly, just loud enough to be heard over the panting moans spilling from Harry’s lips. “Just say the word and we’ll stop.”

“Louis,” Harry grits out, hooking a leg around Louis’ waist to draw him closer, “if you don’t put that thing in me right now _I swear to god—”_

His words are cut short by Louis pushing in, the head of his dick nestled snugly inside Harry’s arse, Louis’ hands tightly gripping Harry’s hips as he holds himself steady.

Harry’s mouth and eyes are both round and open, his chest rising and falling as he takes slow, focused breaths. “Babe?” Louis asks, panicking. _Did I hurt him? Should I stop? Shit shit shit._

He moves to pull out, but Harry catches his wrist, giving Louis pause. “No,” he insists, tossing his head. “I’m okay. It’s just… well, big,” Harry says, his voice high and strained. “It’s starting to feel better. Keep going, please.”

Unable to hide the worry on his face, Louis pushes in deeper, bit by careful bit, enveloped in the slick, tight heat of Harry’s body. It’s everything and it’s _Harry_ and before he knows it he’s completely encased in Harry’s arse, their bodies snug against one another.

“Baby, you feel so good,” Louis breathes, bending forward so he can drape himself over his boyfriend. Harry greedily catches his mouth with a kiss, nipping at Louis’ lip when he pulls away. “How does it feel for you?”

Harry smiles, dazzling even through the hint of discomfort behind his eyes, hair splayed around him in messy ringlets. “It’s… getting better,” Harry admits, his arms coming up to wrap around Louis’ back. “You can move now, I think.”

Dropping his forehead down to rest against Harry’s, that’s exactly what Louis does.

It’s so slow at first, maddeningly so, but then Harry’s stuttered breaths have turned into moans and his legs are wrapped so tightly around Louis’ waist and that’s it, there’s no looking back. Louis keeps a steady pace, Harry meeting him thrust for thrust, nails digging into Louis’ shoulder blades every time he dares to go deeper.

With one hand, Louis untangles Harry’s leg from his hips and pushes it forward, Harry’s knee pressed against his chest and changing the angle in such a way that makes them both gasp. Louis’ next thrust hits Harry’s prostate perfectly, leaving the brunet crying out his name, nails scrabbling down his back in an attempt to gain purchase.

Louis’ orgasm is building steadily, the familiar tightness in his thighs and balls warning him that he isn’t going to last much longer. He manages to get a hand on Harry’s cock, red and smearing precome where it’s trapped between their bodies, and strokes it in time with their rhythm.

“God, Louis, I’m gonna come,” Harry whines, the green of his eyes nearly swallowed up by his dilated pupils.

“Come for me, baby,” Louis pants in reply, dragging his lips over Harry’s perspiring forehead. “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous, you’re doing so well.”

And then Harry’s coming undone underneath him, gasping and crying out as he comes. Each spurt paints a thick white stripe up his heaving abdomen. Harry’s climax has him clenching so tightly around Louis that the older boy sees stars, and with a few more weak rolls of his hips he’s coming as well, the entire world gone hot and white and there’s nothing but Harry and Louis and this incredible electricity crackling from his eyeballs down to his toes.

Spent and exhausted and sweaty and shaking, Louis collapses bonelessly on top of Harry. “Oh my god, Haz,” he murmurs, pressing kiss after kiss to anywhere he can reach, “You were so good, babe. Amazing.” He finally drags his heavy eyelids open, Harry’s sated gaze mirroring his own. “Are you all right?”

“Mmmm,” Harry replies sleepily, clutching Louis tightly and burying his face in the crook of Louis’ neck. “I’m really, really good.” He makes a face as Louis eases out of him, and looks disdainfully down at the smear of come covering both their torsos. “Sticky, but good.”

Louis laughs at that, covering Harry’s lips with a deep, sweet kiss, Harry sighing happily into Louis’ mouth.

“I love you, Lou,” Harry mumbles, barely able to keep his eyes open.

Once he’s disposed of the condom, Louis smiles and stretches out next to Harry, still coming down from the high of his orgasm. “I love you too, Harry. So much.” He presses a quick kiss to Harry’s jaw. “We should go get cleaned up, love, before you fall asleep.”

“Don’t wanna,” Harry mumbles, clutching at Louis and curling himself into a little ball.

Chuckling fondly, Louis tickles his fingers down Harry’s ribs, endeared by his boyfriend’s protesting cries. “If you don’t clean up now, you’re going to be all crusty,” Louis admonishes, trying to sound stern and failing spectacularly, “and I don’t allow crusty boys in my bed.”

“Guess you’ll just have to kick me out then,” Harry replies, unfazed.

“Guess so.”

Neither of them makes any attempt to move, exhaustion taking hold, and Louis’ last thought before drifting off to sleep is that he might possibly be the luckiest man alive. And if they wake up wrapped around each other the next morning, giggling and blushing in the light of a new day—and, yes, a little crusty—well.

Maybe Louis doesn’t mind that much after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only three chapters to go! I officially have it all written, just have to get it edited. There's a lot that happens in these next few chapters, so I hope you're ready!
> 
> Like usual, if you're enjoying the story it would mean so much if you felt like reblogging the post for it on tumblr. =) I have thoroughly enjoyed all the wonderful comments and kudos, and it's been so nice chatting to the people who have messaged me! Y'all are far too good to me. ^_^
> 
> I'll see you next Sunday!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm posting this a day early because the BBMAs are tomorrow, and let's be honest, we're all going to be losing our minds. ^^; I will be, at least.
> 
> I'm sure you're all already aware of the incredible Project No Control, but just in case you aren't, please consider joining the Thunderclap [here](https://www.thunderclap.it/projects/26344-project-no-control)! Let's show the world what this fandom (and our boys) are made of!
> 
> The song for this chapter is "Hearts on Parade" by American Hi-Fi. The full playlist can be found [here](https://play.spotify.com/user/12159569080/playlist/3sb6QE1bNKN5z3n8pLc6G7). And while you're on Spotify, why not give "No Control" a listen? =D

Zayn is sitting at the kitchen table when Louis and Harry finally untangle themselves from one another, showered and rested and maybe just a wee bit sore, in Harry’s case (he assures Louis that he doesn’t mind). They bump hips playfully as they fix their respective cups of tea, bashful smiles and fluttering eyelashes set to a medley of retching noises, courtesy of Zayn.

“Don’t be jealous, Zaynie,” Louis chides, as Harry mumbles an insincere apology. They join Louis’ sulking flatmate, scooting their chairs just a little closer together so that their knees brush underneath the table. “How was your night with Liam, then?”

Shoving his laptop away, Zayn folds his arms on the tabletop and drops his head into them dramatically. “I don’t want to talk about it,” comes the muffled reply.

Harry and Louis share a curious look, Zayn still mumbling into his arms. Shrugging, Louis reaches over the table and starts poking his flatmate in the top of the head. “Spill, Malik. Otherwise I’m going to pester you all day.”

Raising his head, Zayn makes a grab for Louis’ prodding finger, catching it mid-poke. “How’s that different from any other day, mate?” he teases, pulling Louis’ finger to his lips for a playful kiss before releasing it, Louis making disgruntled noises all the while. He fights back a smile, glad to see his friend isn’t so upset that he can’t poke fun.

Snatching his finger away, clutching it to his chest as if Zayn had burned it, Louis tries to look properly affronted. “I don’t have to sit here and take this. Harry and I will run away together and someone sloppier and more annoying will move in and you’ll wish you’d been nicer to your dear old flatmate,” he rattles off, sniffing indignantly. The act crumples when he sees the fond way Zayn is smiling at him, just observing his friend with bright eyes that seem to be lit from within. “Well, okay. I suppose I’ll stay,” Louis concedes, returning a small smile of his own. “But I’m going to be extra messy. In fact,” he announces, pulling Harry into his side, “Harry’s going to stay and contribute to the mess, and you’ll just have to put up with it.”

Louis can see a brief flicker of confusion, soon replaced by comprehension, as Zayn puts it all together in his head.

Zayn doesn’t make a fuss, doesn’t prod for details, just nods grimly, shifting his gaze to Harry. “I suppose I’ll manage,” he says wistfully, sneaking a wink at Harry.

That’s all they ever say about the subject. Zayn doesn’t prod, and Louis will never forget how grateful Harry looks at not having to tell the story again. And if Harry nearly cries when Zayn offers to take him to collect his things, everyone pretends not to notice.

“No one but Niall was home anyway,” Harry says later when he and Zayn return to the flat, carrying a couple duffles and a cardboard box. He drops the box heavily into Louis’ favourite chair, the contents knocking together noisily. “He wanted me to tell you that he’s going to be over here all the time now.”

“He’s welcome, anytime,” Louis assures him, taking a bag from Zayn and slinging it over his own shoulder. Oof. He isn’t sure where they’re going to put all of Harry’s things, but he’s here and he’s safe and that’s all that matters for the time being.

The dazzling smile Harry gives him is all the thanks Louis needs, the younger boy surging forward to plant a kiss to Louis’ cheek before bounding off toward the bedroom.

Still basking in the warmth Harry seems to trail behind him like a banner, Louis turns to give Zayn a grateful smile. “Thanks for going with him. I don’t think I would be able to keep my cool, and there’s no way I’d let him go by himself.”

Zayn just shrugs, toeing off his shoes and flopping down on the couch. He stretches across the length of it, grabbing a PlayStation remote and switching on the system. “It’s nothing, mate. I’ve gotten kind of attached to him,” Zayn says, dropping the controller on his stomach.

“Yeah, me too,” Louis replies, blinking against the sudden wetness flooding his eyes. He’ll never begin to understand what he did to deserve a friend like Zayn or a boyfriend like Harry, let alone both at the same time.

There’s a crash from the bedroom— _their_ bedroom, Louis realizes with a start. “Louuu! I owe you a new hamper!” Harry’s voice calls, muffled as if he’s trapped under the mountain of clothes Louis had hidden behind his closet door.

Laughter chases the unshed tears away, Zayn chuckling along as well. “Go see to your boy, then.” Zayn orders, turning his attention to the TV.

“One of these days I’ll be saying that to you, if you ever get your head out of your arse!” Louis calls over his shoulder on his way down the hall.

Zayn says nothing, lazily lifting his hand so it’s visible over the back of the sofa, middle finger raised. Louis laughs and laughs and is still laughing moments later when he finds Harry tangled in the sorry remains of what used to be his laundry basket.

♠♥♣♦

The flat seems to expand just enough to allow Harry to fit in, filling up the cracks and crevices as if he belonged there all along. It isn’t uncommon for Louis to come home to find a full meal on the table, Zayn already tucking in, or for the two boys to be at opposite ends of the couch, playfully insulting each other’s Smash Bros. strategy. It feels right, and like home, and Louis is pretty sure he’s never been so happy in his entire life.

“Do you think we rushed things, me moving in here?” Harry asks one afternoon, the two of them tangled around each other in their bed. How quickly Louis is to label everything as theirs nowadays—their bed, their room, their laundry. A few months ago that would have seemed daunting, and too big, but somehow Harry almost makes it seem not quite big enough.

Louis traces his fingers over the back of Harry’s hand, warm and dry against his bare chest. His fingers learn the peaks and valleys, the veins living rivers just under the skin, wondering idly if cartographers feel this way when they lovingly sketch out maps of beautiful places. He can’t draw for shit, but Harry is a beautiful place, and one he intends to return to as long as he’s welcome.

“Maybe,” Louis replies nonchalantly, fitting his fingers into the spaces Harry’s have left for him. If he turns his head, he knows he’ll see worry and confusion filling his boyfriend’s wide eyes, so he doesn’t look, just carries on talking. “But you needed to be here, and I think maybe I needed you here too.”

Harry’s release of tension is palpable, the way he moulds himself easily around Louis, their chests bumping on each unhurried intake of breath. It’s Sunday and they haven’t a thing in the world to do today, just cuddle and breathe and forget the reason Harry’s there in the first place.

And snog. But that’s a given, really.

“I need you too,” Harry whispers after one such bout of snogging, flushed and panting against Louis’ neck. “I’ve never needed anyone so much in my entire life.” And suddenly ‘need’ means something different than it did before, but Louis feels it too. It should be scary, to feel so much this soon. But as he fucks into Harry, slow and deep, intoxicated with the litany of moans Harry utters into the pillow, some of the noises morphing to sound an awful lot like Louis and love you and yes, he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

♠♥♣♦

“I want to throw Zayn a birthday party.”

They had ventured out of the bedroom to find the flat empty, a post-it stuck to the TV from Zayn saying he’ll be back later and that they’d ‘better be done fucking by then’ (followed with a smiley face).

Louis pauses, spoon halfway to his mouth, drips of milk escaping the sides and splashing to the table despite his best attempt at keeping steady. “A party? What brought that on?” he asks, shoving the spoonful of cereal into his mouth before any more of it joins the wayward drops.

He allows himself to appreciate the view as Harry reaches to put the box of cereal back in the cupboard, black henley riding up to expose the divots on either side of his spine. Once the box is back in its place Harry turns around, smirking as he catches his boyfriend staring.

“I just want to thank him for everything,” Harry explains, taking his place across from Louis at the table and stirring his cereal thoughtfully. “He let me move in here with no hesitation, lets Niall come over and drink all of his beer, had to buy ear plugs because,” he narrows his eyes and pooches out his lips in his best imitation of Zayn’s smouldering gaze, “‘I love you, Harry, but I don’t need to know what you sound like when you come.’”

Louis nearly chokes on his cereal, laughing at the pretty decent impression. “He didn’t say that!” he crows, once he’s managed to swallow without dying. Harry just raises his eyebrows suggestively in response. “He didn’t,” Louis wheezes, trying to imagine the scene. Between Harry’s awkwardness and Zayn’s passivity, it must have been something to see.

Harry nods sagely, the spoon hanging out of his mouth ruining his otherwise serious facade. “So, I want to do something nice for him,” he says, dipping the utensil back into his bowl.

Chasing a few bits of cereal through the dregs of his milk, Louis thinks about it. “It’s past Zayn’s birthday, love. Remember? It was last week, when I was ill.”

“I know, that’s the point!” Harry insists. “We didn’t do anything for him at all!”

Pushing away from the table, Louis takes his empty bowl back to the small kitchen. “Zayn’s not big on parties, babe,” he calls back over the sound of running water. “I think he had a nice night in and was perfectly content.” He turns back to Harry, drying his hands on the tea towel they keep next to the sink.

“Nothing too wild,” Harry assures him, something mischievous about the way he’s smiling. “Besides,” he adds slowly, “we can invite Liam.”

 _Oh, what a brilliant, brilliant boy, Harry Styles._ “I’m in,” Louis announces, tossing the towel over his shoulder and clapping his hands together in glee. “When do we start?”

Immediately, it turns out.

“We need a theme,” Harry proclaims, sprawled out on the living room floor, lazily searching through party ideas on Pinterest. Louis wasn’t aware Harry had a Pinterest account, though he can’t say he’s surprised.

Lowering the script he was supposed to be blocking for class, Louis raises an eyebrow at the boy on the floor. “A theme, Haz? Really?” He stretches out a leg, the big toe he pokes into Harry’s ribs provoking a squeal. “Zayn is 21, you know.”

“And he has posters of superheroes on every wall of his room,” Harry replies dryly, not even sparing Louis a glance. “Your point being?”

“Touché.”

Another few clicks and Harry hums thoughtfully. “Oh, this looks interesting.”

Louis tosses the script to the side with a sigh, accepting the fact that he’s not getting anything productive done today. _Ah, well._ Harry’s kicking his feet in excitement and Louis has to admit, he’s intrigued by the idea of theme party. “What did you come up with, then?”

Giddy, Harry turns the laptop screen so that Louis can see the link he’s pulled up. “Anything But Cups?” he reads aloud, frowning at the title emblazoned on the webpage. “And what, dear Harold, is that?”

Harry laughs, all red mouth and white teeth as he gathers himself up and plops down in Louis’ lap in the ugly armchair. Louis’ arms immediately thread around Harry’s waist, drawing him closer as he hooks his chin over Harry’s shoulder to look at the laptop screen.

Scrolling further down the page brings up a few pictures, mostly of uni-aged boys holding various kitchen implements. “Everyone that comes to the party has to bring something to drink out of that isn’t a cup,” Harry explains, pointing at the photo of an odd assortment of vessels piled on a table. “Or a bottle. Anything that you wouldn’t normally drink out of.”

 _Huh._ That sounds… sort of fun, actually. Louis says as much, earning a giggle from the boy warming his lap.

“Of course it will be fun! Can you imagine? People drinking out of pots and kettles and buckets.”

Louis can imagine, indeed. Especially cleaning up the next day after people get too sloshed to handle their unconventional containers. But Harry’s twisting to grin at him hopefully, and who is Louis to deny his ridiculous boy a ridiculous party?

“Okay, let’s do it,” Louis concedes, earning a whoop from Harry, the brunet bouncing excitedly in his lap. He sees Harry pin the site to a board called ‘Zaynie’s Birthdaaaay,’ and can’t help but bury his face in the comforting warmth of Harry’s back. “Do you really think Zayn’s going to go for it, though?” he ponders aloud, mouthing at the fabric hiding Harry’s beautiful shoulder blades just out of sight.

Harry shrugs, the muscles flexing underneath the press of Louis’ lips. “We just won’t tell him, then. We’ll hide all the cups and bottles and hand him something silly when he walks through the door,” he explains conversationally, as if he hasn’t just revealed himself for the devious scoundrel he is.

“I pray you only ever use your powers for good,” Louis mutters into the material of Harry’s t-shirt.

“What?”

“Nothing, babe.”

♠♥♣♦

Party planning goes rather well, despite Harry being a little overeager and well, Harry. He has a guest list and a cake recipe ready to go, Louis just watching on in wonder as Harry crafts a killer fete out of thin air.

They just have to run it by Zayn first.

“Absolutely not,” Zayn says, arms crossed and brows low over his eyes as he scowls at them from the couch. Louis feels very much like he and Harry are parents, confronting their child with some chore he needs to do for his own good.

“But Zaaayn,” Harry pouts, draping himself over Zayn dramatically, and okay, maybe it’s just Louis who’s the adult in this scenario. “Don’t you want to have a party?” They decided to leave out the ‘theme party’ bit, rightfully thinking Zayn would never agree to such a thing.

Zayn rolls his eyes and playfully shoves at Harry, dumping the brunet on the floor and earning a fresh round of pouting. “Parties are great. Cleaning up the flat afterward and replacing the telly because Louis accidentally put his foot through it? Not so much.”

“That was one time!” Louis counters, hands on his hips. “And you won’t have to lift a finger. Harry and I will take care of everything, and keep the guest list really small.” He sticks out his bottom lip in a pout to rival Harry’s. “Please, Zaynie?”

Louis can practically see Zayn’s resolve weakening as he glances from one pouting boy to the other, heaving a put-upon sigh before tossing his head back against the couch.

“You’ll keep it small, yeah?”

“Super small,” Harry agrees readily, as Louis chimes in with “miniscule.”

Groaning, Zayn picks up a throw pillow and covers his face with it, the padding muffling the displeased sounds he’s making. “Fine. But it had better be simple and there had better not be any fucking birthday candles.”

“Promise!” Louis chirps, winking at Harry while Zayn’s eyes are still obscured by the pillow.

As it gets closer and closer to the date of the party, Zayn proves to be more excited than he was initially willing to let on. Either that, or he’s gracefully accepted his fate and plans to go out in a blaze of glory.

Throughout the rest of the week, Louis finds him and Harry huddled together, talking about playlists and what alcohol to stock up on and (once Harry had whined at Zayn enough) what flavour of cake he wanted. When the guest list is finalised, invites are texted or sent via Facebook, and all too soon it’s Friday afternoon and Harry is standing on a chair to pin crepe paper streamers to the wall.

“Babe, is this even?” Harry calls down to Louis, who’s busily packing away the mismatched collection of cups he and Zayn have amassed over the last couple years.

Louis glances up to the neatly twisted red and black streamers, enough slack in the strand that the garland drapes over the door to the balcony. It looks far nicer than anything Louis would have done, that’s for sure. To be honest, Louis would probably have taped the streamers to the wall and called it a day (if he bothered with them at all).

But this is Harry, and Harry delights in details, in the things that everyone else might overlook but he sees plain as day. No one else at the party will care that the red velvet of the cake coordinates with the decor, but it matters to Harry so it matters to Louis.

“It’s perfect, love!” Louis replies, grinning as he folds the box closed and hoists it under one arm. “I’m going to go stash these in the bedroom and change, and I think we’ll be all set.”

Harry quickly tapes the streamer in his hand in place before leaping down from the chair, bounding over to Louis. “Hold on a minute!” He says, laughing as he snatches a black felt tip pen from the table where he’d been drawing on balloons. Louis watches in amusement as Harry’s loopy scrawl spreads out across the top of the box. “There!” he says, satisfied, as he caps the pen. “He’ll never think to look there.”

Louis’ laughing so hard he nearly drops the box, which he supposes would be one way to make sure Zayn didn’t get his hands on a glass. The top flap now reads, ‘H & L’s Toy Collection,’ surrounded with hearts in varying sizes.

“Oh my god,” Louis wheezes, leaning up to catch Harry’s mouth in a kiss between giggles. “You’re right, I think that will do the trick.”

Padding off down the hallway, Louis’ still laughing to himself when the first knock at the door sounds. As he’s sliding the box under his bed, letting the duvet hide it from view, he can hear someone loud and bright and, well, cursing up a storm, being let into the flat.

_That’ll be Niall, then._

When Louis steps back into the living room, Niall has tackled Harry to the ground, hugging him tightly while Harry flails about like a turtle stuck on its back.

“Let me up, you tosser!” Harry cries from underneath the Irish lad.

“No, I miss you too much!” Niall shouts back, pressing a sloppy kiss to Harry’s forehead, peals of laughter bubbling up from the entwined friends.

Looking on fondly, Louis leans against the wall just outside Zayn’s (now balloon-covered) door, clearing his throat to announce his presence. Two pairs of eyes, gleaming with mirth, snap up to meet him.

Niall clambers off of Harry, reaching down to pull his former flatmate to his feet. “And if it isn’t the man who stole my Haz away from me! C’mere, you git!” Niall envelopes Louis in a hug, clapping him on the back and leaning close to whisper, “Thank you,” before he’s pulling away and back to hanging off of Harry.

Louis is speechless, just standing there with a flush creeping up his cheeks as he listens to Niall detail life at their flat without Harry around. Niall’s always been loud, energetic, speaking his mind and finding a laugh in anything, but right now Louis thinks he understands Niall Horan a little better.

The blond is talking to Harry about him moving out as if it were a whim, that Harry and Louis just chose to start living together, telling him how annoying it is that Derek never does the washing up and that it’s Thad’s turn to buy loo roll but he hasn’t, so Niall’s taken to keeping a stash in his room. He’s taking what was a traumatic event for Harry and instead of making Harry feel self-conscious or ashamed, he’s going on and on like it was smart of Harry to move out. He’s giving Harry the control of the situation. And Harry looks like he might burst into tears, but he’s smiling and rolling his eyes when Niall asks if he can move in here and kip on the sofa.

 _I can’t believe there was a time I was jealous of him,_ Louis muses, watching the two catch up like it’s been weeks instead of days that they’ve lived apart. He’s so glad that Harry has Niall in his life. Louis may be there to kiss away the bruises, but it’s almost like Niall gives Harry the power to shed his skin entirely, and Harry deserves friends like that.

“Babe?” Harry’s voice cuts through Louis’ thoughts.

Harry and Niall are both staring at him expectantly. He flashes them with his best smile, grabbing Niall's arm and dragging him to the kitchen. "You keep hanging streamers, Styles," Louis commands. "Niall and I are going to start mixing drinks."

By the time more guests start to arrive, the flat is properly decked out, and Niall and Louis have managed to make a giant batch of something Niall is calling NH Juice ("it's ‘punch’ without c-u-p, 'cause it's a no cup party, get it?") The blond nearly pisses himself with delight when he realises the remaining letters also happen to be his initials.

Before long the small flat is bursting with people, all clutching unconventional drinking vessels. Louis is leaned against the dining table, sipping primly from his teapot as he watches Niall fill up the penis-shaped water gun he’d nicked from that hen-do at the Swallow.

“Giving a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘taking shots,’ mate,” Louis muses, once Niall has the gun filled and is firing it eagerly into his mouth.

Niall laughs in reply, wiping away an errant stream of the cocktail that is trickling down his chin. “I’m just waiting for everyone to have a few rounds,” he assures Louis with a wink. “Then I’m sticking a straw right into this,” he says, grinning maniacally as he pats the large cool box holding the party punch. “What? It’s not a cup,” he says with a shrug, as Louis gapes at him soundlessly.

Thing is, Louis won’t be a bit surprised if Niall actually follows through with his plan (which he does).

The party is in full swing by the time the door opens again, Zayn having just finished with his shift at the Resource Centre. His dark eyes widen as they sweep the room, taking in the streamers and balloons and the group of people drinking out of strange containers.

“Uh oh,” Harry murmurs, sidling up to Louis. The Jack-o-Lantern shaped trick or treat bucket in his hands is half full of Niall’s sweet, reddish concoction. “He doesn’t look terribly happy.”

Indeed, Zayn is scowling as he cuts a path through the partygoers, nodding curtly whenever someone wishes him a happy birthday in passing. His gaze fixes on Louis as he crosses the room, coming to a stop in front of the trio with a sour frown.

“Hi, Zaynie,” Louis says innocently. “How was work?”

“A _theme party_ , Louis?” Zayn seethes, flicking the teapot in Louis’ grasp. “I thought this was going to be chill.”

“It is chill! It’s super chill! Frigid, almost!” Louis insists, taking an indignant sip of his drink.

“Louis.”

“Zayn.”

Harry steps in to interrupt them. “It was all my idea, Zayn. Please don’t be upset with Louis. I thought it would be fun to have an Anything But Cups party.” He gestures around the room. “It gives people a chance to be creative, and everyone’s having a lot of fun with it.” The brunet bows his head sheepishly, toes turned inward, and Louis is constantly amazed that someone so tall can make himself appear so insignificant at times.

The sad posture isn’t lost on Zayn. Raising an eyebrow at Louis, he sighs before chucking Harry’s chin with a finger. “It’s very clever, Harry. I just was a bit thrown off.” Harry brightens at Zayn’s words, but Zayn’s frown returns as he looks from the teapot to the plastic pumpkin. “I wish you would have warned me. I don’t have anything to drink out of.”

Harry and Louis share a wicked glance. “We, er, have you sorted, actually,” Harry explains, as Louis hands Harry his teapot and ducks around the counter to grab something out of a cupboard.

Zayn’s face pales when he sees the object in Louis’ hands. “No. No no no. Never in a million years.”

Laughing, Louis unscrews the lid of the container, dipping it into the cool box to fill it. “Come on, Zayn. It’s clean, I promise.”

“We washed it, like, a dozen times,” Harry adds helpfully.

Shaking his head emphatically, Zayn pushes the proffered object away. “No way in hell! What is everyone going to think?” He glances around nervously, and Louis knows he’s looking for Liam.

With his flatmate distracted, Louis seizes the opportunity to thrust the bottle into Zayn’s hands, the red liquid sloshing up the sides of the clear plastic.

 _“I am going to fucking kill you,”_ Zayn hisses, alternating between glaring at the offending object and Louis.

The container in question, incidentally, is about the size of a water bottle, a colourful label wrapped around the curved surface. It also may have once housed a large amount of personal lubricant.

“How did you even go through this much lube?” Zayn mutters, eyeing the label warily. “I didn’t think it came in bottles this size.”

Harry’s giggling into his pumpkin bucket, his shoulders shaking as he tries to drink. Louis takes his teapot back with a smirk. “I’m flattered that you think I have that much stamina, Zayn.”

Harry is snorting into his drink at this point, Niall thumping him on the back a few times when he coughs.

“I just poured it all out into smaller bottles. There are a few in your room, so, happy birthday.” Louis grins at the shocked look on Zayn’s face, his flatmate looking rather like he wishes he were anywhere but at a party, holding what amounts to a bulk-sized bottle of lube. “Put it to good use.”

Zayn flushes at that last bit but doesn’t comment, instead snicking off the cap and taking a sniff. “It doesn’t smell like lube, at least,” he says cautiously.

Harry, recovered from his bout of laughter, nods solemnly. “We washed it really, _really_ well,” he promises again. His mouth and cheeks are stained a dark pink, one from the colour of the alcohol and the other from the amount he’s consumed.

Suddenly grinning, Zayn thrusts the bottle back at Louis. “All right, I’ll play along,” he says, sounding far too chipper all of a sudden, “But Louis has to take the first drink, just to prove it’s clean.”

“Thought lube was supposed to keep things from being a pain in your arse,” Louis grumbles, but he takes a quick swig from the bottle anyway. It tastes like booze and plastic, no trace of its previous contents. “Satisfied?”

“Quite. Now let’s get this party started.”

♠♥♣♦

An hour and a half later, and there’s still no sight of Liam. They’ve had to mix up another batch of NH Juice, Niall settling for filling up a mixing bowl to sip out of since the cool box is still being used. Harry got ahold of the water gun at some point, skipping around giddily and shooting it into people’s open mouths.

Louis and Zayn are piled on the couch with Shayla and Deanna, Kyle sitting cross-legged in the armchair. “Why’s Zayn pouting?” Kyle asks, taking a swig from the dog water dish he’s brought with him.

“‘m not pouting,” Zayn grumbles in reply, sinking lower into the already sagging couch. His lube bottle has been emptied and refilled once already.

Dee leans over Louis to squeeze Zayn’s knee, a shock of her bubblegum pink hair escaping her headband. “He’s pining over someone, isn’t he?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows. “Our Zaynie has his eye on someone special, eh?”

“Ooooh!” Shay exclaims, raising her repurposed soap dispenser in a toast. “Who is the lucky person, then?”

“No one, he didn’t even fucking show up,” Zayn mutters, taking a long pull from his drink before curling up into Louis’ side. “You did invite him, didn’t you?” He asks pitifully, his head resting on Louis’ shoulder.

Louis strokes Zayn’s dark hair placatingly. “I did, babe. I’m sure he just got held up. Printing business must be booming,” he jokes, but Zayn doesn’t laugh.

A shout from near the entryway has Louis twisting in his seat to see what all the fuss is about.

Liam has just stepped through the door, his work name tag still pinned to his shirt, Niall and Harry pouncing on him immediately. Liam has a large vase clasped in one hand, the other clutching an envelope.

“Speak of the devil,” Louis says, giving Zayn a squeeze. “Now get off of this couch and go get your boy.”

Zayn is up and halfway across the room in an instant, pausing only to turn and mouth ‘not my boy!’ back at Louis.

‘Yet!’ Louis mouths back, making shooing motions with his hands. He’s barely turned back to his friends when suddenly his lap is very full of his very drunk boyfriend.

“Louis!” Harry cheers, snuggling close and pressing his face into Louis’ neck. “I missed you!”

Louis laughs, ignoring the rolling eyes of Dee and Shay. “I was right here, babe. Are you having fun?” Harry’s clothing is damp and stained in spots, as if he’s been on the receiving end of Niall’s water gun. “You reek of alcohol.”

“Liam’s here,” Harry announces, sitting up and placing his hands on either side of Louis’ face. His palms are hot and sticky, and Louis wrinkles his nose at the tacky feeling they leave on his cheeks.

“I saw,” he says, gently grabbing Harry’s hands and pulling them away from his face, pressing a quick kiss to the knot of veins at Harry’s wrist. “Did he say why he was late?”

Harry nods, eyes dark and unfocused, a sleepy smile stretching his cheeks wide. “Printing emergency. Apparently there was a typo on some important document and they had to print them all over again, so he had to stay late.” He leans close to whisper in Louis’ ear, his breath hot. “I didn’t tell him about all the lube,” he says, far louder than a whisper should be. The other occupants of the couch are practically howling with laughter at this point.

“Annnd on that note,” Louis says, leaping to his feet and pulling Harry with him, “I think I’m going to put dear Harry to bed.” He smiles apologetically at his friends. “I’ll be right back.” Grabbing Harry by the wrist, he carefully leads his stumbling, baby deer of a boyfriend off to bed before he can say anything to embarrass Zayn any further.

“I don’t wanna go to bed,” Harry protests, though he offers no resistance as Louis peels him out of his clothes. Once he’s down to his pants and swaddled in blankets he seems to have changed his tune, barely able to keep his eyes open as Louis sits on the edge of the bed and runs his fingers through his lover’s tousled brown locks.

“I’ll bring you some water when I come to bed, love,” Louis promises, leaning to kiss Harry’s sweaty forehead. “I won’t be long, yeah? I just need to tell Zayn where I’ve gone.”

Harry mumbles something unintelligible, already dozing off. Louis can’t help but smile, running his fingers lightly down the sharp lines of Harry’s jaw, before tiptoeing from the room and shutting the door behind him as quietly as possible.

When he passes by Zayn’s room, the door is cracked slightly, light spilling out into the dark hallway. Louis raises a hand to knock when he hears Zayn’s voice, hoping to ask him to take over as host so he could see to Harry, but he lets his hand fall limply to his side when he hears the second voice.

Liam.

And it’s just… Louis should go, right? He shouldn’t listen in. He should go back to the party until Zayn comes out.

But then Liam’s talking again, and Louis can’t resist leaning just a little closer to the crack in the door.

“I’m sorry I was late. Work was such a nightmare,” Liam says forlornly. Louis can just picture his sad puppy dog eyes as he apologises.

“No worries, mate,” Zayn replies, sounding cool and calm. Which, given that he has his longtime crush alone in his room, maybe Zayn should be the drama major. “You didn’t have to bring me anything,” he says over the sound of paper tearing, Louis recalling the envelope Liam had been toting upon his arrival.

“It’s nothing, I wanted to,” Liam replies. “I hope you like it.”

There’s more rustling, then: “Sick! I was wanting to see this film!”

“They’re for opening night. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s perfect!” Zayn replies, the excitement shining through his voice. “You can’t go wrong with a superhero movie.” Pause. “Well, okay, you can, but this one looks really great! Wait ‘til I tell Louis!”

Louis barely keeps himself from smacking his head into the door frame. _He got you a_ pair _of movie tickets for a reason, you wanker,_ he thinks to himself, making a mental note to throttle Zayn if he actually tries to take Louis with him.

It won’t be necessary, as it turns out. “Well, actually, I was hoping you would go with me,” Liam says shyly. _Good man, Liam!_

“Oh. Oh.”

“Yeah. If that’s all right? I mean, you don’t have to. I understand if you’d rather go with Louis, though. Or Harry. Crap, should I have gotten three tickets? Or maybe five, so the whole group could go. Or—” Liam’s babbling nervously until Zayn interrupts.

“Liam?”

“Yeah, Zayn?”

“Shut up.”

And then there’s silence except for the slick sound of lips against lips, and Louis takes that as his cue to go.

He’s grinning his head off for the rest of the evening, not bothering to correct people when they start speculating about what he and Harry had gotten up to between his exit and return. The party continues to thrum around him, music and laughter and the occasional splash of a spilled drink, but Louis barely notices. All he knows is he can’t wait for Harry to wake up the next morning so he can tell him all about Zayn and Liam _finally_ kissing.

♠♥♣♦

_Well, it could definitely be worse._

Louis is tired, and hungover, but apparently that’s not a good enough reason for his body to let him sleep until noon. Which is probably a good thing, considering the state of the flat.

The sink is filled with their strange assortment of ‘cups,’ the worktop dotted with a sticky red residue. Harry’s carefully-hung streamers are falling down in some places and drooping in others, a good hunk of them wrapped around the dining table like a makeshift May Pole. Louis can only spot two of the dining chairs (he’ll later find one out on the balcony, despite it being mid-January, and the other in the bath tub). The floor is tacky with spilled drinks, and there’s a half-naked, snoring Irishman passed out on the sofa.

Louis grins as he tiptoes over to the couch, peeking over the back at Niall. The blond is stretched out completely, legs hanging over one of the arms. He’s stripped down to his white briefs and has the water gun tucked into the waistband like he’s some sort of drunken, exhibitionist cowboy.

“You weren’t kidding about living on our sofa, were you?” Louis says under his breath, only getting a snore in reply.

Quietly as he can, Louis begins to sort through their sorry mess of a flat, though he thinks he probably could blast show tunes and sing along without waking Niall. As enticing as that sounds, he settles for humming a song from The Scarlet Pimpernel instead, only shaking his arse a little as he scrubs spots of NH Juice (ugh, in retrospect, that name sounds filthy) off of the hardwood floors.

He’s nearly finished with the dining area when a soft _ahem_ from behind gives him pause. He’s on all fours, arse in the air, so it’s no wonder that when he glances over his shoulder he finds Harry smiling at the sight.

“Enjoying the view?” Louis asks, wiggling his bum in Harry’s direction.

Harry goes pink at being caught staring, but doesn’t deny it. “Always, babe.” His face pinches into a sleepy frown. “You should have woken me. I would have helped you clean.” He tries and fails to stifle a yawn.

Louis shrugs, sitting back on his haunches and tossing his flannel to the side. “You were sleeping well and I can handle it,” he explains, twisting his back, his spine popping a couple times. He scoots around to look at Harry again, the brunet having moved close enough to be towering over Louis with Louis’ face right at crotch level.

The outline of Harry’s dick is clearly visible through the thin material of the pyjama bottoms, and Louis would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted to suck Harry off right here in the middle of the flat.

“Besides,” he murmurs seductively, leaning closer to Harry’s barely-concealed cock, “you’ve never complained about me getting on my knees for you before.”

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but a loud groan drifts up from the couch, both boys whipping their heads toward the sound.

“If you two don’t keep it in your fucking pants, I swear to god…” A tired, hoarse voice threatens from the other side of the sofa.

And oh, right. Niall. _Whoops._

“Sorry, Nialler!” Harry laughs, reaching down to help a giggling Louis to his feet.

Louis easily slips an arm around Harry’s waist, leaning into the solid side of the taller man. “Don’t worry, we wouldn’t do that with company here anyway,” he says, hoping he sounds reassuring despite his laughter.

There’s another groan and then Niall’s head is peeking over the top of the sofa, blond hair wild and tangled and streaked with something that appears to be frosting. Louis vaguely remembers someone face-planting into the remnants of the cake last night, had that been Niall?

 _Ah, it_ must _have been Niall,_ Louis decides, the shouts of ‘if we can’t have cups, I don’t see why we’d have any other utensils!’ playing in his mind with an Irish lilt, followed shortly by Niall sticking his face straight into the quarter of Zayn’s birthday cake still left.

Niall’s eyes are mirthful even as his face twists into a scowl. “No? What about last night, then?” he grumbles. “Didn’t mind going off together with a flat full of people.” He points a finger in the general direction of Harry, squinting to try and figure out which Harry was the real one. “That’s my best mate, I’ve got to protect his honour. Or something.” Niall gives up at that, flopping back down out of sight.

Louis shakes his head fondly, but the moment is short-lived. He can feel Harry stiffen under his fingertips, the smile at Niall’s still-drunken ramblings fading quickly when he sees the stormy expression on his boyfriend’s face. Harry’s brows are pulled low, a muscle working in his jaw, breathing from his nose in agitated puffs.

“Haz?” Louis asks curiously, taken aback by the rapid change in Harry’s demeanor. “Everything all right?”

Harry swallows, the swell of his Adam’s apple bobbing underneath the pale skin of his throat. He turns his head sharply, casting Louis with a scathing look, mouth tightly closed as if he’s clenching his teeth.

“Can we talk in the bedroom for a moment,” he grinds out. It’s a statement, not a question, and Harry doesn’t wait for a reply before he’s tearing out of Louis’ grasp and disappearing down the hall.

Louis can only stare after him, flabbergasted, no idea what he’s done to set Harry off. Sure, Harry isn’t exactly the most predictable person in the world—part of his appeal, in Louis’ opinion—but he’s never directed his anger at Louis before. At his professors or his douchey flatmates or the man he saw littering on campus, sure. Hell, even Niall a time or two. But never Louis.

“Do me a favour and ‘talk’ quietly, aye?” Niall’s voice pleads from where he’s evidently become one with the sofa. “Some of us are still drunk and don’t need to know what you sound like in bed.”

“Shut it, Niall,” Louis grumbles, following Harry’s footsteps to find out what the hell he’s done.

Harry rounds on him the second he steps into the bedroom, eyes wet and fingers clenched into angry fists at his sides. “What the fuck was he on about?” Harry seethes, not bothering to wait for Louis to close the door behind him.

Louis winces at the volume of Harry’s voice, letting the door click quietly closed behind him before approaching the other boy, arms out. “It’s Niall, he was just having a laugh.” Harry steps away from Louis’ advances, keeping the distance between them, the air thick and tense in the cluttered bedroom. Louis helplessly lets his arms fall. “What are you so worked up for?”

Harry rakes a hand through his hair, fingers catching in the tangles. He’s shaking his head like he can’t believe Louis just asked him that. “Why does Niall have the impression that you and I snuck off last night to have sex? Is that what you told everyone?”

“No!” Louis fires back, fingernails digging crescents into his palm from how tightly he’s clenching his hands. “I didn’t tell them anything! I put you to bed and went back to the party. I don’t even think I spoke to anyone the rest of the night!”

“Then why does Niall think we were fucking?” Harry yells, tears working their way out of the corners of his flashing eyes.

Louis scrubs at his face in frustration, wondering how he’d gone from so happy to mid-screaming match in the blink of an eye. He and Harry don’t fight. They just don’t. What the hell happened? “I don’t know!” Louis shouts back, frustrated. “I went back to the party, and…” He trails off, his eyes suddenly wide. “Oh.”

_“Where’s Harry, Louis? You wear him out?”_

_“Look at Tommo’s face. Guess we know where he snuck off to.”_

_“He looks like the cat that got the cream, if you know what I mean.”_

It comes back to him in a rush—hearing Liam and Zayn kissing, being so happy for his friends, returning to the drunken revelry feeling excited and hopeful and so fucking pleased, not dignifying his friends’ lewd comments with a response. _Let them think what they want,_ he’d told himself, _my best mate just got snogged._

He realizes Harry’s been staring at him this whole time, watching the array of emotions dancing across Louis’ bloodless face.

“Well?” Harry asks softly, his voice cracking, tears rolling full tilt down his cheeks now.

Louis reaches for Harry again, tracing soothing fingers over the swell of Harry’s bicep, and this time Harry doesn’t pull away, as if he can see the realisation of what he’s done all over Louis’ face. “I’m so, so sorry, H,” Louis murmurs. “It’s completely my fault.”

He explains the situation to Harry: eavesdropping on Zayn and Liam, being too thrilled to give a damn what everyone was snickering about, ignoring the speculation because there was no truth to their gossip and they wouldn’t believe him anyway.

Harry’s wet green eyes grow larger and larger as he listens, his fists unfurling and his breaths coming easier. He just looks at Louis when the older man finishes explaining, his face blank and unreadable.

“Harry, say something,” Louis pleads, daring to place his hands on Harry’s narrow hips, fingers lightly tracing the jut of bone peeking out over the waistband of his pyjamas. “I’m so sorry, babe. Please believe me.”

Harry doesn’t answer right away, swiping at his eyes with one hand while the other tentatively finds its way to the small of Louis’ back. Even without words, the touch is gentle and calming, seeming to assure Louis _I know, I trust you, I love you._

“I’m sorry I got so upset,” Harry says eventually, both arms around Louis’ waist now and pulling them snug against one another. “I just want our sex life to be ours, private. I don’t want to be another bloke you pulled at the club and high five your friends about,” he admits, sounding so small, so insecure.

Louis’ hands slide from Harry’s shoulders to the sides of his face, tilting Harry’s head so that they’re looking directly into each other’s eyes. “Baby, you will never be just ‘another bloke’ to me,” Louis promises, thumb catching the remnants of tears dotting Harry’s cheekbones. “I haven’t told anyone anything about our sex life. The only person who knows anything besides the two of us is Zayn, and that’s only because I’m a bit loud.” They both laugh at that, the tension between them deflating slightly.

With a moan, Harry drops his forehead down to rest against Louis’. “Christ, I’m such an arse,” he whines. “I can’t believe I thought you’d run and tell your friends about us. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, love,” Louis replies, pressing his lips against Harry’s bitten red ones. “We should be able to talk about our problems, and if you’re ever feeling upset I want you to tell me.” He lifts his head to place the next kiss on the pinkened tip of Harry’s nose. “I will never get mad at you for telling me your feelings, Harry. I promise.”

Harry responds by tightening his grip on Louis, burying his face into his boyfriend’s neck and just breathing in the scent of sweat and day old cologne. Louis feels a few apologetic kisses pressed into his skin and he sighs happily, crisis averted. He’s about to reach up and tangle his fingers in Harry’s messy hair when the brunet jerks away with a start.

“Wait a minute. Did you say Liam and Zayn were _kissing?”_

♠♥♣♦

To be honest, Zayn is frustratingly silent on the topic. In fact, he’s stayed holed up in his room all day, slipping out once for a wee before retreating back behind his closed (and locked, Louis tested it) door.

Harry and Louis have the flat nearly back to normal by dinnertime, Harry returning the real cups to their rightful place while Louis watches from his perch on the worktop, a half-empty bag of crisps clutched between his thighs. It’s just the three of them now, Niall having remembered important plans for the day once Harry insisted the blond help with the tidying up.

“That’s the last of them!” Harry announces, swinging the cabinet door shut once he has all the glasses put away. He steps into the space between Louis’ thighs, plucking the crisps out of the way and tossing them to the side.

“I was eating those,” Louis says flatly, attempting to look annoyed even with a smile playing on his lips.

“I’m tastier,” Harry responds, grinning suggestively as he winds his arms around Louis’ waist.

Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s middle, drawing him in closer, the crisps suddenly forgotten. “Mmm, indeed you are,” he purrs, ducking his head to catch Harry’s lips with his own. He kisses slowly, yet insistently, and Harry is panting when Louis finally pulls away. “Too bad I’m trapped up here on this counter. I could be tasting. Every. Inch. Of. You.” He punctuates each word with a nip or a lick to Harry’s earlobe.

Before Louis can react, Harry has hefted him from the counter, Louis instinctively wrapping his legs tighter around his boyfriend.

“Bedroom. Now.” Harry groans, one of his large hands coming down to cradle Louis’ arse.

They get about two steps out of the kitchen before Zayn’s door flies open, surprising them both. Louis finds himself suddenly in a heap on the ground, Harry having lost his grip from being startled.

“Ouch!” he cries, rubbing his bum where it connected with the hardwood floor. At least he has some padding. “‘Ello, Zayn! Nice of you to join the world of the living.”

Zayn raises an eyebrow at his flatmate, pulling out a new pack of cigarettes and smacking it against his hand on his way to the balcony. “You guys cleaned. It looks nice.”

Harry glances down at Louis, mouth twisting in contemplation as he pulls the older boy to his feet. “Zayn, Lou and I were about to get something to eat. Fancy a Chinese or something?” The brunet asks brightly.

“That’s not what I was planning on eating,” Louis grumbles, sulking at Harry’s side. Harry nudges him with an elbow and sidelong look that Louis really hopes means ‘later.’

Slumped in a kitchen chair, lazily blowing a plume of smoke out of the balcony door, Zayn just shrugs. “Okay, yeah.”

Harry and Louis exchange a worried glance. Louis likes to think he knows his flatmate fairly well, and while Zayn’s been known to be a bit sullen now and then, this is flat out moping. A rather strange reaction to have after getting to kiss your crush the night before, in Louis’ opinion.

Even though he hasn’t known Zayn for long, Harry picks up on the strange mood as well. He grabs the takeaway menu from off the fridge with one hand and tangles his other with Louis’, leading the way over to join the brooding man by the door.

“Did you enjoy your party, Zayner?” Louis asks conversationally, scootching his chair closer to Harry’s so they can both look at the menu.

Zayn shrugs. “Yeah. It was cool.” His chest fills and deflates on a heavy sigh. “Thanks.”

“Sorry I crashed so early. I barely got to see Liam at all!” Harry says with a pout, keeping his eyes trained on the menu.

They both see the way Zayn stiffens at Liam’s name, the hand not holding the cigarette clenching and unclenching where it lays across his lap. “S’okay,” is all he says.

With a noise of frustration, Louis grabs the menu from Harry’s hands and thwacks Zayn across the knee with it. It’s paper and Zayn has on joggers and Louis doesn’t really know what he was aiming for, there, but it’s the thought that counts. Or something.

Zayn is clearly not impressed, eyes falling to the menu being wielded at him before flicking up to meet Louis’. He has one eyebrow raised, incredulity etched into his features. “Everything all right, mate?” he asks evenly, taking another drag off his cigarette.

“What did Liam do, Zayn?” Louis asks, tired of beating around the bush.

“Nothing.” Zayn replies coolly.

“Tell your face that.”

“Okay.”

Louis tries to smack Zayn with the menu again, but this time Zayn snatches it away before it makes contact. Unbothered, he peruses the selection while Louis fumes.

There’s a downward tilt to Zayn’s mouth as he finishes his cigarette and stubs it out in their improvised ashtray, eyes never leaving the menu even though Louis knows he’s going to get the same thing he always gets and doesn’t even need to look. “Why are you so sure something happened with Liam?” Zayn asks eventually, raising his gaze to meet Louis’ glower and Harry’s concerned stare.

Harry fidgets nervously next to him, and, well, shit. Louis had hoped to get the truth out of Zayn without admitting to having listened in. In reality, he’s never really known Zayn to kiss and tell, but then he’s never really known Zayn to kiss at all since he started pining over Liam.

“After I put Harry to bed,” Louis starts, eyes fixed on his hands clasped in his lap, “I was coming to let you know we were going to call it a night. Your door was cracked a little bit.” A chanced glance upwards tells Louis that he doesn’t even need to finish the story; the way Zayn is biting his lower lip says the other man already knows where this is headed. Louis continues on anyway. “I might have heard you and Liam, erm, snogging. A bit.”

Zayn’s eyes are anywhere but on Louis’, his lips pursed as he pulls another cigarette from the pack. “Right, okay,” he says, flicking his lighter and taking a couple puffs.

Yeah, chain smoking Zayn is not a good omen.

Harry is practically squirming in his chair from the uncomfortable silence that overtakes them. He watches Zayn smoke for a beat or two before he can’t stand it any longer. “Do you want to tell us about it? Only if you want?” Harry bursts out anxiously. Louis places a calming hand on the leg Harry’s bouncing up and down incessantly.

A wisp of smoke curls up from the cigarette forgotten in Zayn’s hand, the man’s mouth set in a hard line. “Well, I don’t particularly, but I also know Louis well enough to know he’ll drag it out of me eventually.”

Louis opens his mouth to protest, but immediately shuts it with a soft _click._ Zayn’s not wrong.

“Seriously, only if you want to,” Harry urges, his deep voice smooth and even despite the concern on his face. “We’re just worried about you, is all.”

He’s cut off by a fit of laughter, Zayn dissolving in front of them, a far cry from the rigid posture he’d held moments ago. “I’m sorry,” he manages, tossing out his half-smoked cigarette, not even bothering to pretend he’ll save it for later. “I feel like I’m being lectured by my parents.”

Louis lets a laugh burst out of him as well. “Ha! If we were your parents, you’d be grounded for having a boy in your room, mister.” He leans forward, elbows on knees and head propped up on his palms. “Now out with it. I want details, Malik.”

Like a switch has been flipped, Zayn sobers instantly, pensive and silent under the expectant gazes of his flatmates. Louis can practically see the gears turning in Zayn’s head as he tries to figure out what he wants to say.

“It didn’t mean anything,” is what he finally comes up with.

Which… Isn’t what Louis was expecting, to be honest. From the way Harry is balking next to him, the brunet is rather surprised as well.

“Why would you say that?” Louis asks, not able to mask the incredulity in his voice. “You like each other. You kissed. That usually means something.”

“Unless the person you kissed is stubborn because he thinks you deserve a better first boyfriend,” Harry adds wryly, earning him an elbow to the side from Louis.

Zayn smiles at the exchange between the couple, but it falls away all too soon when he resumes speaking. “I was drunk and touched that he got a me gift, so I kissed him. That’s all. I shouldn’t have done it.”

Leaning back in his chair, Louis crosses his arms over his chest with a hum. “Did he kiss you back?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You don’t… remember?” Louis repeats, deadpan.

“Nope,” Zayn says, popping the ‘p.’ “I kissed him, and the next thing I know I’m waking up in bed alone.” He digs his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it, handing it to Louis. “He texted me during the night, here.”

Leaning close to Harry so they can both read the text, Louis’ eyes skim over the screen.

_hey mate u kind of passed out last nite so i put u to bed. i want to talk to u when u wake up if that’s ok??? so anyway text me_

Louis’s face is impassive as he hands the phone back from Zayn, who pockets it quickly. “You aren’t going to text him back?” he asks carefully.

“And say what, Louis?” Zayn exclaims, throwing his hands up. “‘Hey, sorry I snogged you and then passed out? Hope we’re still pals?’ Yeah, I don’t think so.” He buries his face in his hands. “He probably just wants to tell me what a tit I was and that he doesn’t want to hang out anymore.”

“Or,” Louis interjects, wagging a finger at his best mate. “Or, maybe he wants to tell you that it was a great snog and he wants to do it many many more times when you’re sober and you should _fucking text him back_ , you twat.”

“At least you didn’t vomit on him,” Harry tags on helpfully.

Zayn just looks between the pair of them in disbelief. “You two are made for each other, I swear.” Shaking his head, he slams the balcony door closed and makes a beeline for his bedroom. “Fine, I’ll text him, but when I’m heartbroken later we’re going out for pints and you arseholes are paying!” he yells as he goes.

“Deal!” Harry and Louis chorus in unison, unable to contain their laughter.

“Think we were that insufferable to our friends before we got together?” Louis asks, slinging an arm around Harry’s still-shaking shoulders.

“Absolutely. Tenfold, if the way Niall complains about it is any indication.”

“Fantastic.”

♠♥♣♦

Monday night following Zayn’s party is the first OutSpeak panel of the new semester. This one is meant for postgraduates who plan on teaching or counseling, with the intent of better helping them understand their LGBTQ students and clients. These panels are always Louis’ favourites, because the questions tend to be more educated and thoughtful than crass and rude.

He smiles on the short walk to the lecture hall, scarf bouncing against his chest in time with his strides. His hands are covered in matching wool gloves, right hand kept even warmer by the larger hand folded around it.

When Louis had invited Harry along, the younger man had absolutely beamed at the chance.

_“Of course I’ll go!” Harry had cried. “I think I’ll enjoy it even more now that I’m exploring that side of myself.” He wrapped himself around Louis, pressing kiss after kiss over his boyfriend’s grinning face._

_“Okay, okay,” Louis laughed, playfully shoving Harry off of him. “But this isn’t your panel, so no asking questions, okay?” Harry pouted at that. “Hey, you got two in a row during yours. I never let anyone ask two in a row.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Really,” Louis assured him with a kiss. “If you think of any questions, write them down, and I’ll make sure you get your answers after, deal?”_

_“Deal.”_

Now, arms swinging between them, Harry and Louis are crossing the campus like a proper couple. Louis isn’t sure if it’s the excitement of the panel giving Harry the sudden courage to hold Louis’ hand in public, or just the knowledge that he has somewhere safe to go home to. Whatever it is, Louis isn’t going to complain. Smiling widely against the knit fabric of his scarf, Louis tightens his grip around Harry’s hand and leads him up the steps to the building.

The lecture hall is already pretty full, despite it being a good twenty minutes early for the panel to start. The door is propped open, overlapping chatter spilling out into the hallway, and Louis can see Zayn and a girl called Amira lining up chairs at the front of the hall.

Harry immediately makes to bound over to Zayn, but Louis tugs him back, Harry rounding on him with a confused expression. “Babe?”

“This is the first panel you’ve seen as my boyfriend,” Louis murmurs, rubbing his hands up and down Harry’s jumper-clad biceps. “There might be some questions about our relationship. I just wanted you to be prepared.” He can see the fear flicker on Harry’s face immediately. “I won’t give your name, okay? No one will know who you are if you don’t draw attention to yourself.”

Harry stares down at the tiled hallway floor, looking unconvinced. “I can’t say I love the idea of you talking about our relationship with a bunch of strangers,” he says softly. Louis opens his mouth to interject, but Harry silences him with a wave of his hand. “But,” he concedes, meeting Louis’ nervous eyes, “I asked the same questions of you at my panel, and that’s what helped me figure out who I am.” He chews his lip thoughtfully for beat, giving the situation some thought. “So okay. I’ll be okay. Just nothing too personal, right?”

Louis pulls Harry away from the open door, standing on his toes to give him a kiss away from curious eyes. “Of course, love. And if you get uncomfortable, just leave, okay? I’ll come and check on you.”

He can still feel the anxiety radiating off of Harry, see his nervousness in the clench of his jaw and the slope of his eyebrows, but then Harry is smiling and bending for one more kiss, and Louis’ concern melts away.

They enter the classroom with a comfortable space between their bodies, Harry pausing only to give Louis the tiniest of winks before sliding into the seat closest to the door. The simple gesture soothes away any remaining worry, and Louis joins the other panel members with a renewed spring in his step.

There’s a woman with long, frizzy brown hair pulled back into a half ponytail chatting with a group of students in the front row. She glances over when Louis crosses the room, waving a hand to get his attention. _Ah, that must be Cheryl._ Waving in reply, he makes his way over to her little group.

“Louis, thank you all so much for coming!” Cheryl cries, shaking his hand enthusiastically. “Everyone has been so looking forward to this. I’m Cheryl Gibson, obviously,” she introduces, eyes bright behind her wire-rimmed glasses.

“Louis Tomlinson, but you knew that,” Louis says with a half smile. Cheryl just laughs, a tinkling sound, and quickly introduces him to the group of postgraduates she’s with. She seems like she would be a fun professor, Louis notes to himself. He’ll look up what courses she teaches when he gets home. Maybe talk to Harry about his plans for the future, while he’s at it.

Being in his final year, he’s definitely given some thought to the idea of continuing his education. Zayn is planning on finding a teaching job somewhere, but he’d have Harry to share the flat with. Besides, Harry still has another two years of uni, and the thought of leaving his boy behind makes Louis’ heart ache. He knows they can’t live in a rundown student flat together forever, but for now he’d rather be there with Harry than anywhere else without him.

“Lou, we’re nearly ready,” Zayn calls, taking the second to last seat in the line. Amira and Skye are already settled into their chairs next to him.

“Yeah, coming!” Louis calls, turning back to Cheryl. “Just let us know when you’re ready, Professor Gibson. Can you give me a ten minute warning when our time is up?”

She makes a sour face. “Please, Cheryl is fine. We have ninety minutes, but there’s nothing booked in this room after, so if you we’re having a good discussion then please feel free to keep going.”

“Absolutely. We’ll be ready in just a moment, then.” With that Louis settles in his chair next to Zayn, receiving a fist bump from his flatmate before his eyes seek out Harry in the front row.

His boyfriend is looking around excitedly, a small notebook on the desk in front of him for any questions he may come up with during the panel. He looks so much like he did the first time Louis saw him, even down to that same black jumper, and it’s almost too much for Louis to take.

What if Harry hadn’t been in class that day? What if he’d been too afraid to raise his hand, or if Louis never called on him? What if he passed along Harry’s request for help to one of the other staff members?

Harry meets his eyes and his face lights up, a grin that could move mountains carving dimples into his cherubic cheeks. Louis is so overwhelmed that he shivers, as if one look from Harry has laid his nerves bare, and he knows.

It’s no use thinking about the what-ifs.

He and Harry would have met somehow, he’s sure of it. Harry would have eventually come to the Resource Centre, or Louis would have bumped into him on campus, or they would have stood in line next to each other at the coffee shop. People like Harry don’t just wander into your life by accident. No, they met because they were meant to, and Louis has no doubt in his mind that he would meet Harry in any possible world.

Louis is a big believer in fate.

He’s jostled from his musings by a sharp elbow to the ribs. To his left, Zayn is giving him a pointed stare, face morphing into an exaggeration of a dopey, love-sick smile once he’s sure Louis is looking. Which, okay, he’s not wrong. ‘Tosser,’ Louis mouths, grinning playfully around the words.

Zayn sticks out his tongue like the grown up, third year uni student he is, but their exchange is cut short by Cheryl standing in front of the gathered audience and clapping for their attention.

“If you’ll take your seats, please!” Cheryl calls, her patchwork skirt fanning around her ankles as she paces the length of the room. “On behalf of the Humanities Faculty, I want to thank you all for taking the time out of your schedules to attend and further your understanding of the LGBTQIA community.” She holds up a clipboard with a form attached. “Be sure you’ve signed in so that the other professors and I can give you credit for attending.” She sets the clipboard down on Harry’s desk, who awkwardly passes it to the girl next to him without signing, a blush blooming in his cheeks.

“With that, I’m going to turn things over to OutSpeak.” Cheryl turns, hands clasping together in front of her chest. “Whenever you please, Louis.”

Louis nods at the professor before turning his attention to the packed lecture hall. It’s a great turnout, especially for an optional event, and there is an air of excitement emanating from the audience.

He wastes no time launching into his well-rehearsed introduction, explaining what OutSpeak does and what a Safe Space is. “We may potentially discuss subjects that are triggering to some people. If you need to check out, either mentally or physically, please feel free to do so.” Louis gestures between himself and the other three panelists. “If you do leave the room, one of us will follow you to make sure you’re all right. Any questions?” He scans the room quickly, seeing only expectant faces staring back at him, and then it’s time to begin.

Skye is up first, her long blonde hair in a sleek ponytail today. There are a few cries of outrage from the crowd when she gets to the part in her story about being abused by her father for coming out, but Skye just shakes her head. She’s never been the kind of person to pity herself, and Louis knows she hates when other people feel sorry for her.

“Actually,” Skye says, a smile gracing her painted lips, “I just found out this weekend there’s a good chance I can get surgery this summer. So please, don’t feel bad for me. I’m better than I’ve ever been in my life.”

The crowd claps politely, a few cheers here and there. Zayn’s jaw drops as he turns to check Louis’ reaction, both of them joining in with the applause in a daze. This is huge news and it’s been a long time coming, and Louis is practically bursting with joy for his friend.

Pink-cheeked and grinning, Skye ducks her head to the applause, giving Amira a tiny nod to indicate the end of her story. Amira flashes a toothy smile in return, braids bouncing against her back as she sits up straighter to address the room.

She’s a first-year student, pre-med, and this is her very first time on an OutSpeak panel. She was at Zayn’s discussion on race and sexuality, Louis recalls as she speaks, her hands tracing animated patterns in the air as she tells her story.

Amira tells of how she knew she was bisexual since she was twelve, but kept it hidden from her friends and family. How the first girl she fell in love with was white, their relationship doubly scorned for being same-sex and interracial. How she quashed her sexuality after that, silently existing among her straight friends, biting her tongue against comments about attractive actresses and musicians when they discussed celebrity crushes.

“I stopped hiding who I was when I came to university,” Amira says, pushing back the sleeves of her oversized jumper, the pale yellow a lovely contrast to the brown of her arms. “I have a boyfriend now, and he’s incredibly supportive, and I’m finished choosing between embracing my race and embracing my sexuality.” She turns to Zayn on the last line, who nods in approval, beaming at the girl.

Zayn tells his story much the same as he always does, building on Amira’s struggle with reconciling two facets of her personality with his own account of being a queer person of colour. Their stories differ when he starts talking about his family, afraid to come out to his religious parents, afraid of disappointing them.

Louis wonders, then, what will happen if Liam and Zayn ever manage to get their shit together. Will they date in secret, a second life away at university, far from the gossip of their hometowns? Will Liam give Zayn the strength to come out to his family? Will Zayn and Liam, much like Amira and her girlfriend, be scorned not only for both being men, but also being interracial and interfaith? It’s a lot at once, Louis muses, his respect for his fellow panelists swelling as Zayn speaks.

Lost in his own thoughts, he barely hears Zayn calling his name. The audience titters as Zayn physically snaps his fingers in front of Louis’ face to get his attention. “You’re up, mate,” he says, brown eyes full of mirth.

Only a little embarrassed at having zoned out at his own panel, Louis turns to the crowd and raises his hands helplessly. “Can you blame me? Look at him,” he says, gesturing grandly to Zayn. “He’s a terrible distraction.” The students laugh again, and Louis definitely catches a few heads nodding in agreement. No one can argue that Zayn is beautiful.

Louis slips into his life story, the words falling from his lips with practiced ease. This time, however, when he starts talking about his supportive family and friends, there’s a new addition.

“Right now I’m set to graduate at the end of the term, though I might stay on as a postgraduate student. Perhaps in your lovely department?” He says, leaning in his chair to smile at Cheryl.

“We’d be honoured to have you, Louis,” she replies, sounding sincere.

He laughs, sitting back up, tousling his fringe with one hand. “Anyway, I’m at a great place in my life and I couldn’t be more thankful. I have great friends, an incredible family, and a boyfriend whom I love very, very much.” He sees Harry’s cheeks redden at that, pleased at even the anonymous declaration from Louis.

Good, Louis thinks, unable to keep the self-satisfied smirk off his face. Harry deserves to know he’s loved, and wanted, and so, so important. Louis would scream it from the rooftops if he could, and—when Harry is ready for the world to know—he might do just that.

“Okay, enough about me,” Louis says, fighting to relax the relentless smile stretching his mouth. “We’re going to open up the floor to your questions now. Nothing is off limits, but we do reserve the right not to answer a question if it makes us uncomfortable. Feel free to address a single panelist or the group as a whole.” His eyes scan the rows of postgraduates. “So, who wants to go first?”

Right off the bat, Louis can tell they have a great group. The questions are thoughtful and respectful, some students even taking notes of the answers given. Harry has his notebook out as well, but it lays untouched in front of him, his attention focused on whoever is speaking. Louis thinks he falls in love with Harry all over again, then, with his bright, interested eyes and the wonder setting the downward tilt of his mouth. He’s stunning, really, even tucked away in the corner of the large hall.

Catching Louis staring, Harry covertly sticks out his tongue, and Louis’ nose scrunches in reply. Turning away from his boyfriend, Louis picks out another raised hand to call upon.

“If you have a boyfriend, why do you identify as bisexual?” A girl asks Amira from the back of the room.

He can see Amira nearly pull an annoyed face, but in a second she’s regained her composure, flipping her tightly coiled braids over her shoulder and sitting up tall. “Just because I’ve had a salad every day for lunch this week, that doesn’t mean that next week I won’t decide to have steak,” she says coolly, earning a few laughs. “Being bisexual doesn’t disappear just because I’m dating a man. Just like I wouldn’t be a lesbian if I was dating a woman. That’s the beauty of it, that I’m not limited, and just because people will assume that I’m straight doesn’t mean that I am.”

Louis feels his eyebrows climb up his forehead, impressed with both her poise and her spunk. He knew she’d be a great addition to the panel, but he had no idea he’d have competition for the sassiest OutSpeak member.

More questions. Skye is asked about types of surgery for male to female transgender people, and the changes she’s experienced taking hormones. Zayn is asked if he’s single, resulting in him going a lovely shade of scarlet.

Louis is asked a few standard questions. Has he ever been called any cruel names (he mentions the rugby match, careful not to look Harry’s way). Does he want to have children (“Hundred percent, yeah.”) Has he ever been intimate with a woman, does he know what he’s missing (this asked by a man with raybans perched on top of his head, smacking his gum like a cow chewing cud).

“Do you know what _you’re_ missing?” Louis retorts, wiggling his eyebrows. “I had sex with my high school girlfriend, yeah. I thought it was mediocre because we were virgins, but then it just never got any better.” He shrugs. “Turns out I like sex just fine, but not with girls.”

The crowd giggles, a couple of the more bashful students blushing at the frank discussion. A whole new wave of hands shoot up, though, emboldened by the tone this line of questioning is taking.

Louis isn’t surprised. It always ends up at sex. Every time. It’s as if humans are incapable of not worrying about who touches whom with what parts of their bodies. Life would be a lot simpler if everyone worried about their own genitalia, in his humble opinion.

Alas, that isn’t the case, as evidenced by the next question.

The girl who asks it seems innocent enough, all freckles and long, curly auburn hair. “So, like, how do you decide who is the pitcher and who is the catcher?” She asks, twisting a spiraling lock of hair around her pointer finger.

Louis sucks in a breath, taken aback by the bluntness of her question. Zayn, too, seems shocked, mouth falling open in surprise. He’s been asked that before, many times over, but usually it’s phrased a little more delicately.

He considers not answering, he really does, but Louis Tomlinson has never backed down from a question.

“Well, that’s an interesting question, isn’t it?” he says nonchalantly, acting unbothered. He’s talked about his sex life in front of much larger groups than this. Then again, his boyfriend isn’t normally seated in the front row. Ah, well. It isn’t as if Harry doesn’t know about his preferences in the bedroom.

He clears his throat, soldiering on. “Anyway, that is something that is different for every person who engages in anal sex. Some like to give, some like to receive, and some like both. Also, not all same sex couples engage in penetrative sex. I know several guys who just aren’t into it, so they find what works for them and their partners.”

The girl is frowning at him. He shakes his head, chuckling softly. No one wants the textbook answer. They want the dirty talk.

“If you meant me, personally,” he elaborates, suspicion confirmed by the light returning to her eyes, “it depends on my partner. I’m very happy to take turns.”

“How do you know when you’re meeting someone whether they top or bottom?” Someone else calls out from the back, not bothering to raise their hand.

“You don’t,” Louis says, the words coming out slightly clipped. “You have a discussion with them before you engage in sexual activity. You should never assume what someone else wants in bed, no matter what sex or gender they are.” He gestures to himself, all too aware of the eyes drawn to the flamboyant flick of his wrist. “Take me, for example. I am what you would probably call a twink.” He ignores the giggles his statement stirs from the audience. “I’m not afraid of behaving in a stereotypically gay fashion. I’m sure most of you assumed I’d be a bottom, yeah?”

His question is answered with several nodding heads, a few quiet affirmations.

“That’s why you have to talk about it. In all honesty, it’s been quite some time since I’ve been ‘the catcher,’ as you so tastefully put it,” he says addressing the girl who asked the original question. She turns away, cheeks flaming, looking properly chastened. “In my current relationship, all I’ve done is top.”

He can’t help glancing to Harry then, wanting to see his boyfriend’s reaction to his handling of the question.

He isn’t expecting the students to be paying so much attention. He isn’t expecting them to follow his gaze, to notice the undergrad curling in on himself in the desk at the end.

He isn’t expecting Harry to blanch, face white as a sheet, eyes large and brimming with tears at suddenly being the centre of attention.

And he certainly isn’t expecting it when, a moment later, Harry’s shoved himself from his seat with a sob, tearing out of the room with a slam of the door.

Louis sits there, stunned, as every eye in the room is suddenly upon him, Harry’s absence seeming to have sucked all the air out of the room. Swallowing hard, he regards the curious students with wide, panicked eyes.

_What in the hell just happened?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate meeee. ^^;
> 
> Only two more to go! Can you believe it?? Thank you so much to my beta, [Sarah](letstalkaboutharrysbuns.tumblr.com), for getting this finished so I could post early. And thank you so much to everyone who has read this, and liked it and reblogged it, and left me such kind words in the comments. You're all amazing!! 
> 
> If you'd like to share this story, please consider reblogging the [tumblr post](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com/post/119110503966/both-showing-hearts-by-kiwikero-icanhazzalou) for it.
> 
> I'll see you next Sunday!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope everyone enjoyed last week, with Project No Control and the BBMAs! Can we talk about how I was overwhelmed with BSH feels when the boys presented an award for the song this fic is named for? Gah.
> 
> Anyway, second to last chapter!! I can't believe it's almost finished. Also, 10k hits? You guys are incredible. I never anticipated people enjoying this so much. <3 I really hope you like the ending!
> 
> Sooo, this chapter needs to come with a few warnings. 
> 
> **Warning** for descriptions of off-screen violence, homophobic slurs, and descriptions of injuries. Nothing too graphic, I promise. If you're at all concerned about the content, please message me and I'll give you a rundown if you want to see if you can handle it. Just take care of yourselves. 
> 
> With that being said, the song for this chapter is "Breathe" by Greenwheel. The entire soundtrack can be found [here](https://play.spotify.com/user/12159569080/playlist/3sb6QE1bNKN5z3n8pLc6G7).

The sound of Louis’ footfalls echo through the empty corridor, his TOMS slapping against the scratched and cracked linoleum. The sound is almost unbearably loud, each strike seeming to fill up the air around him until it’s all he can hear: a frantic, punctuated rhythm flooding his ears and his head, so loud it drowns out his thoughts.

Then again, that might be his heartbeat.

_Louis had stared at the sea of faces before him, jaw slack. The room sat in a stunned silence, only the creaking of chairs and shuffling of feet to ease the unbearable tension filling the space like a fog._

_There was a hand gripping his shoulder, Zayn’s breath hot on his ear. “Go after him,” his flatmate whispered, his almond-shaped eyes worried and wide._

_Louis didn’t speak, couldn’t, just gaped apologetically at the expectant faces of the students before he was out of his seat, out the door, hoping his feet could carry him along the same path Harry had taken, that he could fix whatever the fuck just happened._

He’s panting, jumper clinging to the damp skin of his back, by the time he pushes through the front door of the building. The cool, late January air wraps itself around him, his heart clenching in his chest from the sudden change in temperature (well, that too, anyway).

And Harry is nowhere in sight.

Louis tries calling and texting, but to no avail. He’s just cupping his hands to his mouth, ready to literally cry out for the other boy, when something catches his eye.

Just down the footpath from the building, he can barely make out Harry’s long form huddled on a bench. The lamp post above him casts a dingy glow over the scene, the light stuttering now and then. Harry’s crying; Louis can tell by the set and tremble of his boy’s shoulders, even if he isn’t close enough to hear.

The relief he feels at finding Harry is quickly lost in the panic building in his chest. Swallowing hard, he takes step after shaky step toward the boy on the bench, the sniffles growing more audible as Louis approaches.

He can tell the instant Harry knows he’s there, sees it in the way the younger man’s back tenses up and the sobs go silent. He stops in his tracks, not daring to go any closer for fear of Harry taking off again.

“Lou?” Harry asks without turning around. His voice is as thin and fragile as the white wisps that follow it into the night air.

Louis takes a few cautious steps closer. “Yeah, babe, it’s me.” He winces at how scared he sounds. He’s not sure what he’s afraid of, or what’s even happening. All he knows is Harry is upset and he has to find a way to fix it.

He reaches out to touch Harry’s shoulder, but the brunet jerks away the instant Louis’ fingers brush against the black wool of his jumper. Harry’s off the bench in an instant, swollen eyes flashing in the flickering lamplight.

“You do not get to touch me right now, Louis,” Harry spits, shoulders squared and hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

He knows Harry is taller than him, quite a bit so, but Louis has never felt nearly as small as he does then, retracting his hand and shrinking away from his boyfriend.

His boyfriend. Fuck. He hopes that’s still what Harry is to him. But he can’t let himself think like that, not right now.

“Harry,” he says, tongue feeling too thick and heavy in his mouth. He tries again, Harry’s name sounding somewhat less like a sob the second time. “What… what happened? What did I do?”

Harry balks at him, face red and splotchy from crying. “You seriously don’t know?” He’s shaking his head in disbelief, scoffing, one hand coming up to clench at his untamed curls. “You just fucking outed me to a room full of people!”

“I didn’t mean to!” Louis cries, feeling tears prick at his eyes. He’s never seen Harry like this, so mad and full of fire. It’s frightening, really, to be the focus of Harry’s intense gaze, to be the cause of the snarl pulling at his lips. Lips that had opened beneath him and around him, welcomed him and soothed him, now curling in anger, tense and drawn. And fuck, Harry has every right to look at him that way. Louis did the one thing Harry was most afraid of, the one thing no one in the closet should ever have done to them.

“You didn’t mean to,” Harry repeats, voice flat. A bitter laugh punches out of him, harsh in the otherwise quiet night. “Well, too bad, because you did. And you can’t take that back.” Tears are rolling relentlessly down Harry’s mottled cheeks. “I told you I wanted our sex life to be private.”

Louis frowns, drawing himself back up to his full height, his jaw jutting stubbornly as he holds Harry’s gaze. “And I told you, literally minutes before the panel, that I was probably going to get asked something like that. And you said it was okay.”

“It was okay until you fucking looked at me!” Harry cries. Louis can’t ever remember hearing him swear this much in a single conversation. “You can’t talk about fucking a boy one minute and then blatantly look at me. They all know now, Louis. And come tomorrow, more people are going to know, and I’m never going to feel safe on this campus again.”

Louis throws his hands up in frustration. “Why are you being so dramatic?” he demands. “Most of the students in that room have no clue who you even are! Hell, most of them don’t know who I am! And they don’t care, either, not about me or who I’m with.” His chest is heaving now, sobs threatening to tear from his throat, breath coming hard and fast. This is the worst fight they’ve ever had, and he can feel it. Knows Harry can feel it too. Something is coming unraveled between them, and quickly, the frayed threads slipping through Louis’ grasping fingers faster than he can twist them back together. “I was just doing my job.”

And then it snaps.

The tension rushes from Harry’s body like a balloon deflating, all the fight seeming to go out of him in a burst of air. He’s back to looking lost and scared, the boy Louis wants to hold so tightly and protect from the world, to kiss away his bruises and cover his ears against cruel words.

But he knows, somehow, that he can’t do that anymore.

Harry’s eyes are on the ground when next he speaks. “If your job was more important than protecting me, than our relationship, then we both have some serious thinking to do.” It’s soft, just above a whisper, but the night around them does nothing to drown out the sound.

“You know you’re the most important thing in the world to me,” Louis says, voice choked with emotion. He swipes at his eyes before he continues. “But me talking to these students, sharing these details of my life, is important too. Damn it, Harry, you’ve sat where they were sitting. You know how important it is to hear what we have to say.”

The anger is completely stripped from Harry’s features, leaving him looking tired and worn. He regards Louis with sad eyes, and to Louis it feels a lot like pity.

“Yeah, Louis, I do,” he concedes, but for some reason it doesn’t feel like a victory. “But I guess I had this naive idea that what I had to say was important too.”

Louis wants to shout at the top of his lungs. He wants to scream and cry and break things. Most of all, he wants to pull Harry to him, clutch the taller boy to his chest. He wants to breathe in the familiar scent of his shampoo, feel Harry’s warm, solid body pressed tightly against his own. He wants to kiss away every tear and smooth away every worried line in his boyfriend’s beautiful face.

But he doesn’t get the chance. He’s no sooner opened his mouth than Harry is cutting him off with the sharp raise of a flattened palm. Louis can see the nail marks carved into the flesh from how tightly Harry’s been balling his fists.

“I can’t do this right now, Louis. I’m going to yours—” _No, ours, ours_ , Louis thinks desperately— “and getting my things, and then I’m going back to mine.” His eyes are shining once more, but the tears don’t quite spill over. They just swell, threatening, like clouds before a storm. “I think it’s probably best if you don’t call me. I'll call you if I want to talk.”

And it’s over. Just like that, it’s over. Louis is at a complete loss.

He’ll think, later, of all the things he should have said, how many times he should have told Harry he loved him, that he was sorry, that he’d do whatever it takes to fix this. He’d think of the perfect words that would bring Harry back into his arms, covering his face with a thousand forgiving kisses.

For now, the only word that falls from his lips is “Harry,” strangled and weak, but it’s too late: Harry is already walking away, growing smaller and smaller with each stride, and Louis is left more alone than he’s ever felt in his life.

♠♥♣♦

Louis is still numb when he finally makes it back to his flat. He couldn’t bear going back to panel, feeling dozens of pairs of curious eyes on him, being expected to answer questions like his heart hadn’t just been ripped in two.

So he didn’t. Instead, he took a long walk around campus. The air was bitingly cold, seeming to seep into Louis’ very bones, but it only added to his misery. He’d left his scarf and gloves back in the lecture hall during his hasty exit, and the sting of his exposed skin felt somehow deserved.

After half an hour, hoping he’d given Harry enough time to get his things together, he’s leaning weakly against the wall beside the door to his flat. He hasn’t cried since the fight, too shell-shocked to do much more than move and breathe, but he also hasn’t been faced with seeing the holes in his life Harry once fit so nicely into.

Pushing the door open at long last, it’s even worse than he imagined.

Nothing looks any different, is the thing. There’s still a pile of shoes inside the front door. Zayn’s collection of beer bottles from the day before still clutters the coffee table. Louis’ ugly armchair is still in the same place it’s always been, none the wiser that the flat is somehow lacking something. A few streamers that escaped clean-up hang limply down the wall, looking as dejected as Louis feels.

He holds it together pretty well, he thinks, until he gets to their— _his_ —bedroom.

It had only been theirs for a little over a week, but Harry’s absence from the room is palpable. His assortment of headscarves is gone from where they’d been draped over his desk chair. His clothes are missing from the pile of laundry shoved in front of the closet door. Louis knows that if he goes into the bathroom, there will be an empty space on the vanity where Harry’s toiletries had sat snug between Louis’ and Zayn’s.

Thinking about it is too hard. Louis can see Harry on every surface in every room, and when he climbs into bed the sheets still smell like him, and that’s more than Louis can handle right now.

With a strangled cry, he grabs his spare pillow, the only one safe from the lingering spectre of Harry’s scent, and flees his room for somewhere safer, somewhere that never belonged to HarryandLouis.

He lets himself fall into Zayn’s bed with a sob, and then he lets himself fall apart.

Louis wakes up to a warm body pressing into him from behind. For a few blissful seconds, he thinks it’s Harry, here to forgive him, to take him back, to promise they can get through anything the world throws at them, so long as they’re together.

But then then he notices the strange bedding and the angles of the limbs wrapping around him, skin darker and dotted with ink where Harry’s was pale and freckled.

Zayn doesn’t say a word, just wraps his arms around Louis and holds him close, tucking his scruffy chin over Louis’ shoulder.

“Hey,” Louis manages in a voice he wouldn’t recognize as his own if he hadn’t spoken the words.

“Hey, babe,” Zayn murmurs in reply. “I’ve got you. Go on back to sleep.” He tilts his head to press a kiss to Louis’ cheek before settling down against his back.

Louis doesn’t argue, merely lets himself slip back into a fitful slumber, and when he wakes up the next morning he’s reaching out for someone who isn’t there.

♠♥♣♦

Louis doesn’t go to his classes the next day.

He stays in Zayn’s bed, clutching a pillow, staring at his phone and willing Harry to call.

_“I think it’s probably best if you don’t call me.”_

And he won’t. He’ll respect Harry’s wishes, as difficult as it may be.

His fingers automatically open his text message thread to Harry on his mobile, to rows of kisses and smileys and pictures of silly things Harry would find as he walked to class.

Louis is curled up facing the wall, rereading Harry’s texts for the third time in a fit of masochism, when Zayn comes to check on him.

“Louis,” he breathes, settling down on the edge of the bed. “That isn’t helping anything.”

“‘S too,” Louis argues petulantly. “It’s making me feel like shit.”

“And how is that helpful?”

Louis shrugs, eyes still fixed on the mobile screen. “‘S better than feeling nothing at all.”

He hears Zayn sigh as the bed dips, his flatmate leaning over him to snatch the mobile from him.

“Nope. I’m putting this in the kitchen. You can have it back when you feel like getting out of bed.” Zayn presses a noisy smooch to Louis’ tangled hair, absconding with the stolen mobile. Louis absolutely does not let himself think about the time not that long ago when he was taking Zayn’s phone, Harry laughing at his side as they ran breathlessly from the flat.

 _Fuck it,_ he decides, and wills himself to go back to sleep.

The second day without Harry, Zayn changes Louis’ sheets and gently guides Louis to his own bed. Zayn brings him tea and pot noodles and doesn’t try to make Louis shower. Louis loves Zayn kind of a lot.

On the third day, Louis manages to make it to the living room couch, wrapped in his duvet like a cocoon. Zayn beams at him, wordlessly patting the empty cushion beside him on the couch and offering Louis the second PlayStation controller.

Four days after the fight, Louis can’t take it anymore. Harry told him not to call, and he respects that, but all he wants in the world is to hear Harry’s voice right now, to apologise and beg forgiveness, to let Harry scream at him if that’s what he needs. He earned his phone back the day before, and he’s out on the couch again today (Zayn having lured him there with takeaway Thai). Thai is safe. HarryandLouis had never gotten Thai together.

The whole time they’re eating, Louis can’t help but think that Harry would probably really enjoy Thai food. The feeling twists in his stomach and he can’t finish his meal.

On day five, Louis’ phone is still silent, and he knows he shouldn’t call Harry, he knows that. But Louis has never been one for doing what he’s been told.

So he calls. And it rings. And rings.

Harry’s voice on the voicemail message is bright and chipper, recorded by a version of Harry that had never met Louis Tomlinson, had never felt his touch or lips or heartbeat. Louis wonders how long it will take for Harry to sound that happy again.

Maybe he already does.

Louis hangs up and calls again. This time, there’s only one ring before it goes to voicemail, meaning the call was ignored. With a cry of frustration, Louis hurls his phone across the room as hard as he’s able, the crack of the device hitting the wall rather cathartic. The feeling is brief, however, when Louis goes to collect his mobile and can’t get it to turn on.

Okay, so breaking his phone is a little dramatic, but damn if Louis doesn’t feel a little better, all the same.

♠♥♣♦

“You have to go back to class, Lou.”

It’s Monday again. One whole week without Harry in his life. A week of crying and barely eating and trying to sleep his days away, because mercifully his dreams are kinder than his reality. But this is the second week of lectures he’s missed this term, and he needs to get back on track if he wants to graduate on time.

“I know.” Louis says with a sigh. He takes a deep breath, rolling over in bed to look at Zayn.

The black-haired boy is leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his vest, plenty of skin visible through the large armholes. It’s thanks to Zayn that Louis has been able to have this time to himself. Without ever being asked, Zayn had made sure that all of Louis’ shifts at the Resource Centre were covered the past few days.

“I have to work today, too,” Louis laments, pulling himself out of bed and padding over to the closet, digging through his laundry for something that doesn’t smell too awful.

It must be a lost cause, because Zayn disappears and comes back holding one of his own shirts, thrusting it at Louis with a quirked eyebrow. “Here. Go take a shower and change. I’ll make us something to eat, and then your arse is going out to rejoin society.”

“My arse _is_ my greatest contribution to society,” Louis jokes with a weak smile. He gratefully accepts the shirt, trying valiantly not to cry as he thanks Zayn and makes his way to the bathroom. Once he’s in the shower, the tears come freely, quiet sobs echoing against the tiled walls. The flat is poorly insulated, he knows Zayn probably hears, but when he emerges from the shower, pink-skinned and clean, Zayn is waiting with tea and toast and doesn’t say a word about it.

The day is a blur of voices and faces, mumbled greetings and downcast eyes. He might as well not have bothered with his lectures with as little information as he retains. The only thought on his mind is getting through this day so he can crawl back into his bed, away from the swarms of people smiling and going about their lives without a Harry-shaped hole in their hearts.

Work isn’t much better. The Centre is quiet, Nick and Skye the only other occupants when Louis slides into the chair behind the reception desk. They both give him sympathetic smiles when he makes eye contact, Zayn probably having broken the news, but Louis just shrugs and tries to lose himself in paperwork. It’s telling that Nick hasn’t bombarded him with tasks to complete, that Skye hasn’t pounced on him to gush about the latest episode of _Top Model._ Instead, they both give him a wide berth, and shit. That must mean he looks just as broken as he feels.

His shift goes by in a haze, Louis focused on assigning volunteers to panels. He doesn’t put himself on any. Not yet, at least. It’s still too new, too painful, and the thought of sitting in front of a group of curious students and pretending that his heart isn’t broken… Well. That’s a little too much to think about for a Monday afternoon.

A hand settling on Louis’ shoulder makes him jump, the paperwork balanced in his lap sliding to the floor in a messy pile. “What the hell?” he snaps, swiveling his chair to glare at the offender.

It’s Skye, her plump, glossy lips set in a sad smile. “Hey, Louis. Your shift’s over, love,” she says gently, giving his shoulder a squeeze before letting her hand fall away.

Louis takes a breath, willing his heart to stop pounding, and bends to gather up the papers at his feet. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thanks, Skye.” He shoves the stack back into its folder in the filing cabinet, leaving the rest of the feedback forms for another day as he collects his things to go.

Skye stays close by, her large brown eyes tracking his movements, the purse of her lips a clear indicator that she’s holding her tongue.

Louis sighs, folding his hands in his lap and turning back to her. “Whatever it is you’re thinking, just say it.”

“Are you okay?” She asks, moving to sit on the edge of the desk. Her skirt today is shockingly pink and flowy, too bright against the dull finish of the surface beneath her bum.

“That’s not it, and you know it.”

There’s a tense pause and a slow exhale, and Louis glances up to see that pursed lips have given way to a frown.

“No,” she admits. “It’s not.” Her eyes are sad, even as her voice is stern. “You fucked up, Lou.”

Louis recoils at the words, feeling rather like she just slapped him. This is Skye, and she speaks her mind and doesn’t give a damn what people think, and Louis loves that quality about her.

But it still stings, nonetheless.

“I know,” he murmurs quietly, tucking his hands beneath the curves of his thighs. “Trust me, I know.”

Her voice is gentler the next time she speaks. “What were you thinking, love? You’ve seen firsthand how awful it is for someone to get outed. How could you be so careless?”

The first tears splash onto his cheek in hot, fat drops, Louis not even bothering to wipe them away because there’s plenty more where those came from. He hasn’t been letting himself dwell too much on how he betrayed the trust of not just Harry, but the LGBTQIA community as a whole. Outing someone is… Well. You just don’t _do_ that. And now everyone knows Louis is responsible for dragging someone out of the closet against their will. He’ll be surprised if any of them ever trust him again.

Skye looks shocked at how visibly upset Louis is. She pulls him from the chair and gathers him in her arms, leading him over to the squashy sofa for a little more privacy. As they settle into the cushions, Skye strokes his hair and whispers soothing things to him, and Louis simply cries harder because he isn’t the one who deserves to be comforted.

Harry is.

Harry, whose only queer friends are all Louis’ friends. Fuck, even the Resource Centre, the one space LGBTQ people can go to escape on campus, is filled with Louis. Harry has nowhere to go, no one to turn to, and here Louis is the one being given solace.

“I just wanted to see if he was proud of me,” Louis whispers hoarsely, licking his lips and tasting the salty tears that have gathered there. “Fuck, Skye, how do I fix this?” he pleads, turning his streaming eyes to her mournful ones. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

She grabs a box of tissues from the nearest bookshelf, offering it to Louis as she thinks. “I don’t know if you can fix it, Louis. The damage is done.” Louis crumples at that, burying his face in the flimsy paper sheet in his grasp, sobbing harder. “But,” Skye says tenderly, a firm hand on his chin bringing their eyes back together. “You can try to start over.”

Louis quiets, mulling the words over in his mind. _Start over._ “What do you mean?”

“Harry probably doesn’t trust you right now, love. He’s probably feeling very vulnerable, and betrayed,” she explains, rubbing patterns into Louis’ back with slender fingers. “You can’t just apologise and expect everything to go back to normal. But you can be there for him, and prove yourself trustworthy, and hope that one day he’s gracious enough to give you another chance.”

“I’ll do anything,” Louis says quickly, balling up the soggy tissue in his fist and reaching for a fresh one. “He won’t even talk to me, though. Told me not to call.” He omits the part where he broke his phone and had to get a new number, begging Zayn to text it to Harry on the off chance he did want to call. Louis has no idea if Harry ever got the message.

Skye bends to give Louis the softest of kisses to his temple, not minding the hair plastered there from brushed away tears. “You just have to be ready for when he does, then. If he calls you, you give it everything you’ve got. You make sure you’re there for him no matter what, and that you show him exactly how much he means to you. Then the rest is up to him.”

Louis nods, wiping at the trails of moisture on his cheeks and blowing his nose noisily into a tissue. “I will. I will. I love him so much.”

“I know you do,” Skye says, pulling Louis even closer to her. “And I know he loves you too. If anyone can get through this, it’s you two,” she says sincerely, and Louis finds himself daring to believe her.

He walks home that day feeling more hopeful than he has in a week.

♠♥♣♦

Things start to look up a little after Louis’ chat with Skye.

It’s still a struggle getting out of bed each day, reminding himself to eat and shower and do his coursework. But he does it, knowing that when Harry calls, he needs to be ready to prove himself. To do that, he has to remember how to exist on his own.

Louis’ almost stopped feeling like the flat is too empty when suddenly—it actually is. Days go by without him seeing Zayn, the coffee table suspiciously clear of beer bottles and crisp bags. He’ll hear Zayn come home late at night, only to be gone again by the time Louis rolls out of bed the next morning. It’s hard enough facing each day without Harry, and harder still without his best friend at his side.

Of course, he doesn’t blame Zayn. The way he acted that first week… He wouldn’t have stuck around either.

Louis tells Zayn as much when he finally catches his flatmate, still up working on a paper when Zayn unlocks the door at half one in the morning.

“Shit, Louis, I thought you were a ghost!” Zayn cries, clutching at his chest. He hadn’t noticed Louis sitting quietly at the table until Louis spoke.

“Sorry, sorry,” Louis chuckles, closing his laptop to take a break. He’s nearly finished, anyway. He gestures to the empty chair across from him. Zayn shucks his jacket, grabs a couple beers and joins Louis at the table, sliding a bottle to his flatmate as he sits.

“You seem like you’re doing better,” Zayn remarks, idly dragging a fingertip through the condensation on his beer.

Louis shrugs. “It’s a process, like anything.” He leans forward on his elbows, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow at Zayn. “I haven’t seen you around much lately.”

Zayn ducks his head guiltily, fingers wrapping tightly around the bottle. “Oh, yeah. Erm, about that.” He coughs into a closed fist, eyes darting back and forth like he’s trying to decide what to say.

 _Shit,_ Louis thinks, watching his best friend implode, _is he about to tell me how terrible I’ve been to live with?_ “Look, Zayner, if this is about how I’ve been lately, I’m really sorry,” he bursts out, unable to wait for Zayn to finish his thought. “I know I’ve been a shit flatmate and a worse friend, but I’m trying, okay? Please don’t avoid me.”

Zayn’s head snaps up, his mouth sagging open. “Oh, Louis, I’d never avoid you,” he breathes, looking genuinely startled that Louis had even thought that. “I just didn’t know how to tell you. I mean, I wanted to, yeah, but—”

“Just spit it out already!”

_“IaskedLiamtobemyboyfriendandhesaidyes.”_

Louis pauses, blinks, the rush of words hitting him like a tonne of bricks. “You... you did what, now?” he asks, scarcely daring to believe his ears.

A pink flush is steadily rising in Zayn’s cheeks, his skin going from bronze to rose gold. “I, erm, I asked Liam out. Last Monday, actually.” He smiles sadly. “The day of the panel. I was going to tell you when we got home, but then…”

But then Louis and Harry had fallen apart, right.

“Oh, my god,” Louis breathes. “I’m so thrilled for you guys, mate. You both deserve it.” His shoulders droop as he hunches forward on the table. “I’m sorry my relationship ending put a damper on yours beginning.”

“Not at all!” Zayn cries, shaking his head fervently. “It’s been great so far, you know? He’s…” He sighs, a dopey smile playing on his lips. “He’s amazing, Lou. Everything I ever wanted, and all that rubbish. We just didn’t want to rub it in, like, that we were happy while you, well, weren’t.”

Louis smiles warmly at Zayn, touched by his friends’ consideration even in light of their blossoming relationship. _It’s about bloody time,_ he thinks, but what he says is: “Is that where you’ve been lately? At Liam’s?”

“Yeah. Didn’t think you’d want to see us being all soppy and disgusting,” Zayn says, chuckling.

Louis flutters his hand dismissively. “Nonsense. I’d love nothing more. You guys should absolutely start hanging round here.”

“I’d like that,” Zayn says shyly. “Liam would too. He thinks the world of you, Louis. Says that you helped him out when he really needed someone.” The look on Zayn’s face says he wants to ask about it, but Louis knows he won’t. Part of the Centre being a Safe Space is that anything said within those walls is said in confidence, and both of them respect Liam’s privacy enough to leave it at that.

Louis smiles at the memory of the day Liam poured his heart out. It’s one of those moments that reminds Louis why he works at the Resource Centre. He was needed, and he helped, and is there any better feeling in life than that?

“I think the world of him as well,” Louis says eventually. “And I absolutely think he deserves to be with you.”

Zayn’s face stretches wide with a dazzling grin, tears of joy making his eyes shine. “I think so too.”

And that’s how Liam starts filling the empty spaces Harry left in their flat. Not in the same way, of course. Liam fills different cracks and craters, his presence as bright as the patch of sunlight that filters in from the sliding glass door, warming the floorboards in increments as it creeps across the room. Zayn and Liam _are_ soppy, and they’re absolutely disgusting, but Louis finds that he loves every minute of it.

♠♥♣♦

By Friday, Louis almost feels like he's adjusted to his new normal. He's sleeping better at night, no longer waking up seeking out the warmth of a body next to his. He's caught up in all his classes, has made time to hang out with Dee and Shay, and he looks forward to the nightly video game tournaments he has with Liam and Zayn.

Friday is when everything falls back apart.

It's hard enough going straight home after his shift at the Resource Centre, skipping the coffee shop dates that were once Louis' favourite part of the week. But this Friday is even harder than it should be, because it’s February 1st.

Harry’s birthday.

They had made plans, back in January. They were going to take the train to Cheshire so Louis could finally meet Harry’s mum and stepdad. Gemma was going to meet them there, spend the weekend showing Louis around town and celebrating with Harry’s friends from Holmes Chapel.

Louis wonders if Harry went anyway. If instead of showing Louis all his favourite places, he’s visiting them by himself. He wonders what Harry told his mum when he showed up alone.

Zayn and Liam try and distract him, for which he’s grateful. They have more than enough beer to last the weekend and a stack of video games and classic horror films to switch between. Louis orders several large pizzas and hot wings and cheese sticks with no sweet corn on any of it.

All in all, it promises to be a hell of a weekend.

The three of them are piled on the couch, Liam in the middle with the flatmates on either side. Louis has Liam in a headlock while Zayn mercilessly digs his fingers into his boyfriend’s apparently very ticklish sides. Liam is laughing and his eyes are streaming as he half-heartedly tries to fight the pair off.

Their assault is cut short by a sharp rap on the door. Louis releases Liam and bounds toward the sound, shouting “Pizza! I’ll get it!” as he goes. Zayn relents his tickling, instead curling up next to the solid man beside him to wait for their food.

Louis is still laughing and red-faced when he opens the door, wrestling with Zayn and Liam doing wonders to lift his spirits. Maybe it’s childish and maybe he’s avoiding having to face his feelings right now, but it’s better than spending Harry’s birthday alone in bed and crying. His mood falls flat, however, when he sees who’s waiting on the other side of the door.

It’s Niall. His hair is a mess and his face is ruddy and wet. There are dark circles under his eyes and he just looks so… broken. Louis can feel his heart fall into the pit of his stomach and he swallows hard, knowing that whatever Niall has to say isn’t going to be good.

Bracing himself as best he can, Louis carefully reapplies his smile, forced though it may be, and steps out into the hallway, escaping the curious gazes of his friends still inside.

“Hey, Nialler.” Louis says, hating the way his voice comes out so thin and fragile.

Niall’s eyes, cold and unblinking, are on Louis’ in an instant. “We need to talk, Lou.”

Christ, Louis’ never heard Niall sound so serious in all the months that he’s known the blond man. There’s no trace of the spark, the joie de vivre, the _thing_ that makes Niall, Niall. Instead he’s all hard eyes and clipped words and the promise that something awful has happened.

Niall is quiet, though, hesitant. He looks so pale in the poorly lit corridor, and Louis just wants him to fucking say something, to tell him what’s wrong, to ask about Harry, and—

 _Oh god._ Harry.

“Niall,” Louis says, trying desperately to keep his voice steady, even as his heart is hammering against his ribs like it’s trying to break free. “What’s wrong? Is this about Harry?”

The way Niall’s ocean eyes turn to waterfalls at the mention of Harry tells Louis everything he needs to know.

“What happened?” Louis whispers, and shit, he’s crying too, fingers clenching tightly in the fabric of his shirt because he isn’t sure if he’s allowed to clutch onto Niall, doesn’t know where they stand anymore.

Niall swallows hard, hauling in several deep breaths, before he’s able to speak. “He’s… he’s hurt, Lou.”

Louis slumps back against the closed door to the flat, suddenly lacking the energy to hold himself up. _Harry’s hurt. Harry’s hurt. I wasn’t there for him and now he’s hurt._ “Why—why didn’t someone call me? What the fuck happened?” His mouth is as dry as his cheeks are wet.

Niall’s shaking his head like a dog worrying a bone. “Fuck, Louis, no one could get ahold of ya. And Harry’s phone is broken, so I couldn’t call Zayn. I don’t have his number, and the one I have for you isn’t working.”

Shit, Louis’ new number. It never occurred to him to give it to Niall.

“Where is he? Please, Ni, take me to him,” Louis begs, a fresh wave of guilt hitting him like a truck. How long has Niall been trying to get in touch with him? How long has Harry been in trouble, waiting for Louis to come to him?

Skye’s words echo in his head like thunder across the sky. _‘You make sure you’re there for him no matter what.’_ Except he hadn’t been there. Yeah, he’d tried to make sure Harry had his new number, but it wasn’t enough. What it boiled down to was Harry couldn’t reach him when he needed him.

Niall’s eyes are wide as he watches Louis break down in front of him. “Hospital,” he says hoarsely, reaching out to steady Louis when it seems like the third year’s knees might give way. “Come on, I’ll drive.”

Louis doesn’t speak, isn’t sure he can. Instead he just tears back into the flat, grabbing his jacket and stuffing his feet into shoes, ignoring the worried looks his friends are giving him. They call out to him, asking what’s wrong, but there’s no time. Harry needs him and is waiting; he’s wasted too much time as it is. It’s all he can do to pause momentarily on his way out the door, a sob caught in his throat as he makes eye contact with Zayn, and then he’s gone.

♠♥♣♦

White tile. Antiseptic. The quiet murmur of an intercom.

Louis sits in the waiting room in a daze, tapping his foot impatiently. The legs of his chair are uneven and he rocks slightly with the motion, the armrest knocking into the wall in a steady rhythm.

The nurse sitting at the reception desk shoots him a dirty look, clearly annoyed by the sound, and Louis stops his jiggling with a huff. He’s anxious, is the thing. It seems like it was hours ago Niall had deposited him into the hard, uncomfortable waiting room chair and gone to check on Harry.

_“I’d better go in first, mate,” Niall had explained apologetically when Louis tried to follow him. “Warn him. Don’t want him to get too worked up when you walk through the door.”_

_And wait,_ what?

_“He doesn’t know I’m coming?” Louis demanded, feeling like he’d been duped. “You made it sound like he was asking for me!” He shook his head, annoyed at the whole situation. Except… Niall never had said Harry wanted Louis, did he? Just that Niall had tried to call. “Shit, Niall, he might not even want to see me.”_

_“He does, I promise you he does.” Niall is adamant. “Just wait here, yeah? I’ll be right back.”_

So he’s waiting. And waiting. And dammit, where the fuck is Niall?

Louis is about to lose his patience, to ask the nurse to give him Harry’s room number, when Niall sticks his head around the frosted glass dividing the waiting room from the corridor. “Louis? Ya ready?”

Louis shoots out of his seat and is at Niall’s side in an instant. Niall had been eerily silent on the drive over, and Louis’ head is still racing, trying to figure out what the hell had happened. No one had even bothered telling him the extent of Harry’s injuries, just that he was going to be okay.

“He’s in a regular room now,” Niall explains as they navigate the maze of hallways. “We came in to A&E late last night.”

Louis stops walking at that, stunned. “He’s been here since last night?”

Niall turns around, not quite meeting Louis’ accusing stare. “Well, early this morning. Three or so.” He takes Louis by the elbow and urges him on. “I stayed with him until he was conscious again, and then I started trying to ring you. I came as soon as I could, Lou. I promise.”

Niall sounds sincere, but the thought of Harry hurt and stuck in hospital for half a day makes Louis feel sick to his stomach. “Just take me to him, yeah?” he says brusquely, feeling only slightly guilty at the injured look on Niall’s pale face.

They finally come to a halt outside of a room, the door pulled closed. “This is it,” Niall declares, out of breath from speed walking the entire way.

“Thanks, mate,” Louis replies, just as winded, as he goes to open the door. His heart is pounding. He can’t believe he’s about to see Harry for the first time in a week and a half. _God, it seems like it’s been so much longer._

“Louis, wait.”

Startled by the urgency in Niall’s voice, Louis lets his hand fall away from the doorknob and turns around.

Niall’s crying again, his eyes a vibrant blue next to the scarlet of his face. “It’s my fault, okay? I’ll let him tell ya what happened.” His shoulders are shaking with the force of his sobs. “But it’s my fault. I wanted ya to hear it from me, because he won’t say it.”

Louis isn’t sure how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. He reaches out to give Niall’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and then before anything else can stand in his way he pushes through the only barrier keeping him away from his Harry.

It takes a moment for Louis’ vision to adjust in the room, all the lights off except for one glowing softly at the head of the bed. Harry is propped up against the pillows, body wrapped in the thin, generic sheets found in hospitals everywhere. His eyes are closed, eyelashes blending with the shadows bathing his face, and his hair lies messy against the pillow, lank and uncombed.

Louis swallows hard, letting the door shut softly behind him. He takes a few timid footsteps closer to the bed, and the sound is enough to make Harry wrench open a tired green eye.

“Lou?” he asks, his voice rasping and small. And maybe hopeful as well?

“I’m here, baby,” Louis coos, closing the distance between them with the longest strides he can manage.

Harry smiles, trying to sit up more, but falls back against the pillows with a cry of pain. Now that he’s closer, Louis can see that what he thought were shadows on Harry’s face are actually bruises, black and blue and purple. His lip is split, a dark line marking where the wound has scabbed over.

“Oh my god,” Louis gasps, stopping short of the bed.

“That bad, huh?” Harry asks jokingly, trying to smile. The cut in his lip prevents him from moving his mouth too much.

Swallowing hard, Louis takes a seat on the edge of the bed, reaching a trembling hand out to brush Harry’s curls back from his temple. More bruises disappear beneath his hairline. “Harry, what happened?” he whispers, cataloguing every mark and scrape marring the brunet’s usually flawless skin.

Harry’s eyes fall to his lap, one hand fiddling with the tape around his IV. “Niall and I just wanted to go out for my birthday, that’s all,” he whispers. He sounds so ashamed, Louis’ heart is falling to pieces with every word.

“Niall wanted to go bar hopping, so we did. Not to the Swallow, though, just in case you’d decided to go out as well.” Harry smiles apologetically. “Didn’t figure we should meet up again for the first time with both of us sloshed.” Louis nods in understanding, and Harry continues with a sharp intake of breath that has him grimacing. “Anyway, he took me to a few of his favourite pubs, and we had so much to drink, Lou. We were having a blast, but all I wanted to do was call you.” His eyes have started spilling over, the bruises on his face wet and shiny like ink. “We got to the last place around 2 am, and Niall could tell I wasn’t feeling it anymore, so he was just going to use the toilet and then call us a cab.”

Harry is proper sobbing now, gasping as he cries. Louis sits in stunned silence, rubbing gentle circles into the skin of Harry’s forearm. It’s the only place he dares touch without knowing what further damage lies hidden underneath the flimsy hospital gown.

“I was waiting out front when Thad and Derek showed up with their friends,” Harry continues finally, his words fraying around the edges.

 _Oh, god._ Louis knows what’s coming, can feel it in his bones, in the stone-like weight settling in his stomach. _Please, god, no._ “Oh, Harry,” he says, barely a whisper.

Harry lifts his chin bravely, the tears still pouring relentlessly from his blackened eyes. “I called out to them, said hello. Told them Niall and I were out celebrating my birthday.” The laugh that follows is bitter and harsh. “I was too drunk and stupid to remember being slammed against a wall, apparently.”

“Or too kind for your own good,” Louis replies, taking Harry’s hands in his own to keep Harry from worrying at his IV any longer.

The brunet allows his hands to be held, limp and pale against Louis’. “Anyway, one of his friends recognised me from the rugby match. ‘Isn’t that the fucking fag?’” Harry’s imitation of the man’s voice is low and rough. “I wanted to go back inside to find Niall, but someone grabbed me. I tried to get away, I begged them to let me go, but the next thing I knew I was on the ground and someone was kicking me. I was crying and calling for help but no one ever came. They even smashed my phone so I couldn’t call anyone.” He takes one of his hands away, the one without the IV, and gingerly cups the back of his head. “The last thing I remember is Derek spitting in my face and slamming my head against the pavement.”

Louis is speechless. He’s angry and sad and so fucking sorry that he wasn’t there for Harry when he was needed most. How do you even respond to someone telling you that their worst fears had come true? “Oh my god, Harry, I don’t even know what to say. I’m so, so sorry. I should have been there for you.”

“You couldn’t have known, babe,” Harry replies, shaking his head. “They would have only hurt you too, and then we’d both be in hospital.” He offers a thin, watery smile. “Besides, Niall was with me. I thought that would keep me safe. But it didn’t.”

“Niall said it was all his fault,” Louis murmurs, remembering the blond man’s sobbing confession.

“Niall’s an idiot,” Harry replies, lips tilting in a half-smile. “He saved me, actually. When he came to find me, they were still at it. He stood up for me, got them to leave me alone, and called 999.” He shakes his head in wonder. “They could have taken him, easily. I have no idea what he said to get them to leave me alone.” Slowly, painstakingly, Harry scoots down the bed so he can sit beside Louis, dangling his sock-clad feet over the edge. Louis opens an arm as Harry fits himself into his side, and it feels a lot like coming home.

“I love you,” Louis whispers. “So very much. And I’m so sorry, for this and the panel and everything. For the times I was jealous of Niall and pushed you too far and for ever letting you go back to that flat.” He sniffles loudly, trying not to break down. “You wouldn’t have been in that situation if it weren’t for me.”

“Shh, baby,” Harry soothes, pressing a kiss over Louis’ bass drum heart. “I forgive you. I’m sorry I pushed you away. What happened last night? That would have happened whether you were with me or not. It would have happened even if you didn’t accidentally out me at the panel. None of this—” he gestures to his injuries—“is your fault. I was going to call you today, actually,” he admits, twining his fingers with Louis’. “I thought we could still take our trip to Holmes Chapel, if you wanted. I suppose it will have to wait until my mum can look at me without crying.” Louis can feel the brunet wince against his side. “I’m not looking forward to telling her what happened, but she deserves to know.”

Louis drapes an arm around Harry’s back, letting his fingers form all the words he can’t bring his mouth to say. “I’ll be right beside you when you do tell her. If you want me there, I mean.” He lets out a shuddery breath. “Harry, can we please be back together? Please? I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you, but please, give me another chance?”

The air in the room is suddenly thick and stale, the antiseptic smell mingling with desperation and fear. Harry’s breathing, Louis’ heartbeat, the steady blips of the monitors, all these things stretch on into infinity as Louis awaits his fate. He’s never been more nervous in his entire life than now, the boy next to him capable of crushing him or giving him life with the next thing he says.

He can feel Harry start to pull away, and his breath catches in his throat. Harry has every right to tell him to fuck off, that he needs someone better for his first serious boyfriend. It will hurt, but Louis won’t blame him. He’ll even offer to be friends. Life not being loved by Harry can’t be worse than life without Harry at all.

But Harry doesn’t tell him to fuck off. He doesn’t say a single thing, actually.

Instead, he _laughs_.

“What? What’s so funny?” Louis asks, spectacularly confused.

Harry is dabbing at his eyes, now streaming for a different reason. “Louis… Oh, baby,” he says, still chuckling. “Is that what you thought?” He sobers up when he sees the pained look written on Louis’ face. “Lou, when I said I needed to think, that I was moving out, I didn’t mean I was breaking up with you. I just wanted a little space, that’s all.”

Wait, _what?_ Louis can practically feel his jaw fall into his lap as Harry speaks.

“I needed some time to come to terms with what happened,” Harry explains. “I was scared and angry and I had to figure out what being outed meant for me. But never, and I mean never, did I think about my future without you in it.” His smile is sheepish, sweet and endearing despite the ugly cut dividing his bottom lip. “I sort of love you an awful lot.”

Louis doesn’t even try to stop from crying this time. He’s so overwhelmed with the onslaught of emotions he feels all at once that he just lets himself go, collapsing against Harry as carefully as he’s able. He’s relieved, and embarrassed, beating himself up for jumping to conclusions. It’s so obvious, looking back now, that Harry had never once said anything along the lines of ‘it’s over.’

“I love you an awful lot too,” Louis manages eventually, once his breathing has slowed and he’s left a damp patch on Harry’s shoulder. Harry is holding him so tightly, as if Louis is the broken one.

Maybe he is.

“Come home,” he says, tipping his head so he can look Harry in the eye.

Harry dips down, bringing their mouths together in a chaste kiss. It’s brief and innocent, the hard line of scab rough against Louis’ lips, but it might be the most beautiful kiss of Louis’ entire life.

Harry’s eyes are wet once more when they part, but they’re happy as well. “There’s no place in the world I’d rather be.”

♠♥♣♦

An hour later, Harry is cleared for release. The doctor, having found no internal injuries or broken ribs, sends him on his way with a prescription for pain medication and strict instructions to take it easy. Harry has a concussion, bruised ribs, and a split lip, but the real damage, Louis knows, goes far deeper and will take much longer to heal.

Niall pulls the car around and doesn’t say a word when Harry and Louis both climb into the backseat, hands clenched tightly together, as if they’re afraid of letting go.

Louis’ mind is still racing when they pull up to the kerb outside his flat, struggling to make sense of the events of the last several hours. He had started out the day unhappy and alone, and now he has his boy back in his arms. He gives the younger man’s hand a gentle squeeze, just because he finally can after so long, and Harry’s answering smile is enough to make the pain of the past few weeks dissolve in an instant.

They make their way inside without so much as a word, three pairs of feet pounding out a thudding cacophony against the stairs leading up to the second storey. Harry stays tucked into Louis’ side, making the climb more challenging than usual.

The door swings open as they reach the landing, Louis having texted Zayn on the way back from the hospital. His flatmate steps aside to grant the trio entrance, eyes wide as saucers when he sees the state Harry’s in. Zayn doesn’t speak, just swallows hard and quietly shuts the door behind them.

Hands gentle yet firm, Louis guides Harry over to the couch. A FIFA game is paused on the TV, the boxes of pizza they’d ordered spread out over the coffee table. It seems like ages ago that he’d planned a night in with Zayn and Liam. Had it really only been a few hours?

With Harry deposited safely on the couch, Niall taking the spot next to him, Louis busies himself making a pot of tea. He can hear the quiet murmurs from the living room, Niall’s sniffles, the low rumble of Harry’s reassurance. He doesn’t try to listen in; those words belong between the two friends. Louis knows Niall feels responsible, but he also knows both boys well enough that he isn’t the slightest bit worried about the future of their friendship.

 _Or our relationship,_ he thinks to himself, sorting through the boxes of tea to find Harry’s favourite. Louis doesn’t care if he has to rebuild Harry’s trust from the ground up, has to spend every day for the rest of his life apologising; he knows that they can make it through this. He won’t have to, though. Harry isn’t the sort to hold a grudge, not even when he deserves to. Hell, even now, he probably doesn’t even hate the pathetic excuses for men who put him into this situation.

A hand on his back makes Louis startle, bags of Lady Grey going everywhere.

“Sorry, mate, sorry,” Zayn’s voice soothes, the other man leaning around Louis to help collect the scattered tea. “I just wanted to come check on you. Give those two a moment, you know?” He jerks his head in the direction of the first years huddled together on the couch.

A wave of affection for Zayn washes over Louis. In the past six months alone, Zayn has proven time and again how aware he is of the needs of those around him, that for all his quiet brooding he’s actually a very keen observer. Louis is so, so lucky to have him as a friend. “Thank you, I think they need it.” He stuffs the gathered tea bags into their box, tossing it back in the cabinet with the other flavours. “I’m okay, I think?” And hell, Louis isn’t even convinced by the sound of his own voice.

He tells Zayn what happened like Harry and Niall had told him. As Louis talks, he can see Zayn’s face going ashen, the veins in his neck straining as he clenches his jaw. There’s a fire in his flatmate’s eyes he’s never quite seen before, and frankly never wants to be on the receiving end of if he can help it.

“I’m going to kill the bastards,” is the first thing Zayn says when Louis finishes speaking. The anger seems to pour off of him the same way the steam is rising from the kettle. Louis hasn’t even allowed himself to get angry yet, wanting to focus on Harry first, but it’s easy now, feeding off of the seething man in front of him.

Louis reaches out and clasps Zayn’s trembling bicep. “I know, Zaynie, trust me I know. I want them to get exactly what they deserve for hurting my boy.” He sighs, giving the firm muscle beneath his fingers a gentle squeeze before letting his hand fall away. “But ultimately it’s Harry’s decision, innit? We have to respect what he wants to do, and he hasn’t told me that yet.”

The fury in Zayn’s eyes is replaced by sadness, the fire dying out to smothered coals. “But it’s Harry. He’s never going to want anything to come of this, and you know it.” Louis smiles sadly, nodding in agreement, and the fight seems to go out of Zayn with the slump of his shoulders. “It’s not fair,” he whispers, the words catching in his throat.

The kettle is demanding attention, so Louis turns to see to it, allowing Zayn a moment to break down privately. “No, it isn’t,” he spits, his own temper getting the best of him. “But it’s still up to Harry.” If Zayn notices that Louis slams the mugs down on the worktop more forcefully than usual, he doesn’t react to it. They can share this, Louis and Zayn, this private outrage at the great injustice suffered by someone dear to them, and Louis knows he’ll need someone to vent to as he watches Harry’s body mend itself, hoping his hatred will fade along with the bruises but knowing himself too well to believe it.

They stand in companionable silence as Louis finishes with the tea, loading a tray with enough mugs for everyone as Zayn adds sugar and milk to everyone’s liking. Between the two of them, Niall’s is the only tea preference they aren’t sure of, so his cup is left black just in case. Carefully hefting the tray, Louis follows Zayn back into the living room, Liam poking his head out of Zayn’s room as they pass (having retreated there to give the two sets of flatmates some privacy). Once the tray is safely on the coffee table, Louis settles in next to Harry, handing his boyfriend a steaming mug. Harry accepts gratefully, and Niall takes one as well, both of them wet-cheeked but smiling. _They’ll be all right,_ Louis thinks, as Niall begins heaping sugar into his tea.

The five of them sit in silence, not easy but not uncomfortable, as they sip their drinks. At some point Harry starts crying, fat tears rolling soundlessly down his bruised face and falling onto the same purple hoodie he’d been wearing the first time Louis saw him cry. In a flurry of motion, Louis takes Harry’s mug and places it on the table along with his own, Niall doing the same on his other side, and they fold themselves around the sobbing boy between them. Louis strokes Harry’s hair while Niall rubs his back, the entire world narrowing down to sound of Harry’s pulse strong and steady and _there_ beneath Louis’ cheek.

A warm weight is pressing against Louis’ back and it’s Zayn, having moved from the armchair to the arm of the sofa to join the trio. Louis gives him a wobbly smile before scooting over to make room on the couch, Zayn sliding down next to him and cuddling up to Louis, one arm reached over to rest on Harry’s leg. Liam’s not far behind, squeezing into the spot next to Niall, and all five boys are crying and holding each other until they’ve cried themselves out, and then someone laughs and they all laugh until they’re crying again. By the end of it Harry’s eyes have drifted closed, still held tight by his friends and boyfriend, and Louis doesn’t think he’s ever felt this much love at once in his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go! I promise promise promise a happy ending. You'll see. <3 
> 
> Thanks so much for sticking with me thus far!! It's been a long road, but we're so close to the end. Thanks you as always to my brilliant beta, Sarah, for working her magic on each and every chapter.
> 
> If you're enjoying the story, I would love if you'd reblog the post for it on [ tumblr](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com/post/119711256181/both-showing-hearts-by-kiwikero-icanhazzalou)! Thanks so much for everyone who's taken the time to leave a comment or send me a message. It's been so wonderful talking to all of you!
> 
> See you next week!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe that I'm actually posting the last chapter, but here it is!
> 
>  **Warning** for some minor onscreen violence, homophobic slurs, and one racial slur.
> 
> Songs for this chapter are "In Your Arms Tonight" from Hedwig and the Angry Inch and, to end on a lighter note, "Rainbow Connection" by Me First and the Gimme Gimmes.

The days that follow Harry’s attack drag by and seem to fly all at once. Harry’s bruises fade, and his lip heals, but the hidden wounds take the longest to close. Many a night is spent holding Harry close when he wakes up screaming from a nightmare, flinching away from invisible fists until Louis can calm him down and kiss away his tears. Frustratingly, Harry’s dreams are the one place Louis can’t protect him. He finds himself passing sleepless nights just lying there, watching Harry for the smallest signs of terror so he can wake the boy up before the nightmares get too awful.

Harry picks up right where he left off, refusing to miss any lectures because of his ordeal. Monday finds him kissing Louis goodbye as he heads off to class, battered but still smiling. “I’ll be okay, love,” he promises as Louis fusses over him, trying to delay the inevitable departure. “They’re too cowardly to try anything during the day.”

Louis follows him to class, just in case.

And Harry really does seem to be okay. He carries on with his life, acting as if their falling out and the attack had never happened. His presence once again fills the empty spots in the flat, clothes and books and his favourite mug returned to their rightful places. Most nights it’s Harry and Louis, Liam and Zayn, and more often than not Niall is there too—perfectly content to be the fifth wheel.

But it still feels off. Harry hasn’t broken down, not really, since that first day. It has Louis worried that the other boy is trying to hold everything inside, pushing away the hurt and the fear, but Harry can’t run away from the feelings forever. Louis, on the other hand, can’t seem to escape them at all.

“You sure you’re okay?” Louis asks on Friday, one whole week since he’d been reunited with Harry in that hospital room. One week of relearning each other’s moods, and mouths, and bodies, though never going further than a quick blowie or hand job. It just hadn’t felt right, yet, and Louis is going to make sure it’s Harry who makes the first move.

Harry’s eyebrows arch curiously, his hands wrapped tightly around his chai latte. It’s coffee date day, their first one in weeks, and Harry had been sorely disappointed to see that his beloved pumpkin latte was off the menu for the season. “I’m great, Lou. Better than ever.” He reaches across the table, covering Louis’ hand with his larger one, veins and tendons shifting just under the skin like rivers on a map. The mark from the IV is barely visible anymore, Louis notices.

It’s been happening more and more lately, Harry touching him in public. He’ll slip his hand into Louis’ as they walk, curl up next to him on the couch at the Resource Centre, press a quick kiss to Louis’ cheek in the hallway after class. “I’m not scared anymore,” Harry had told him when he’d questioned it the first time, looking around in shock as Harry held his hand on their way to get lunch one afternoon. “The worst has already happened, and I know you’ll protect me.”

 _But I couldn’t then,_ Louis thinks bitterly, even as he clenches Harry’s hand tightly in his own. Something about Harry trusting him so unquestionably makes him feel even worse for not being there in his moment of need.

“You’re beating yourself up again,” Harry muses, lifting his cup to his lips with his free hand.

Louis winces at his choice of words. “Am not,” he lies. He knows Harry sees right through it by the way his mouth twitches downward.

Setting his drink down with a sigh, Harry reaches across the table with his other hand so that he’s holding both of Louis’. “Babe, you have to stop blaming yourself. What happened wasn’t your fault.” His eyes, bright as ever against the darkened skin around them, are large and sincere. “I’m okay, and I love you. That’s what matters, isn’t it?”

Louis shrugs noncommittally. “If I wouldn’t have fucked up, you wouldn’t have been alone.”

Harry scoffs at that, pulling his hands free and leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest. The cracked vinyl padding of the booth creaks as he moves. “I wasn’t alone. Niall was with me. What if I had decided to go out with just Niall anyway? A lads’ night, just the two of us. You can’t always be there to rescue me.” His arms fall into his lap as he hooks a foot around Louis’ ankle, a small smile spreading his roseate lips. “You made a mistake, Louis, but I stopped blaming you for it ages ago. It’s time you did too.”

“I’m trying,” Louis murmurs, his voice almost lost among the pleasant din filling the busy shop. And he is. It’s just… Right now he can’t look at Harry without seeing the reminders of the people who laid hands on him, who dared to hurt the kind, innocent boy who insists on catching spiders in cups and setting them free rather than letting Louis squish them.

It’s been nice, being able to touch Harry in public. It really has. But the price Harry had to pay for that strength was far too great, and Louis’ afraid one day Harry will realise that his life would be so much simpler without Louis Tomlinson in it.

When Harry smiles at him like he is right now, though, ear to ear and dimple out in full force, it’s hard to feel sorry for himself. “I love you,” Harry says, his voice as warm and sweet as the coffee in front of him.

And how can Louis resist that face? He feels Harry’s words from his toes to his scalp, filling him with so much affection that he might burst with the pure joy of it and splatter happiness all over the place. He wonders briefly what splattered happiness would look like. _Cake batter with glitter in it, probably._

Pushing aside the bizarre thoughts, he returns the smile, though of a lesser wattage. “I love you too, babe. So, so much.” He chews at his lip, eyes falling to the half-drunk tea cooling on the table. “I’m trying to forgive myself. I’m just worried you are bottling things up, and one day it’s going to be too much.” Louis offers another smile, this one worried and wan. “If you ever need to talk to somebody, even if it isn’t me, you know I’ll support you, hundred per cent.”

For a heart-stopping second Harry doesn’t say anything, just stares down into his coffee like it’s some kind of murky pensieve, and Louis panics that he’s taken offence to the suggestion he seek counseling. He starts breathing again when Harry looks back up, eyes glittering as he waves a dismissive hand in the air between them. “You sure that’s a good idea?” he asks wryly, waggling his eyebrows playfully. “Last time I sought out someone to talk to, I fell in love with them.”

Louis rolls his eyes and swats Harry’s hand fondly, silently thanking whatever higher powers exist that that someone was him.

♠♥♣♦

“I want to go get my stuff,” Harry announces on Sunday out of the blue.

They’re sitting at the kitchen table having breakfast, lazy and relaxed, and Louis nearly chokes on his cereal.

“I’m sorry, you what?” Louis asks, spluttering, as he accepts the napkins Harry passes to him.

Eyes fixed on the table, Harry deliberately mops up the droplets of milk Louis had spilled in bewilderment. “I want to get all of my things out of the halls. Bring them here.” He lifts his gaze imploringly, napkin clutched tightly in his hand. “Will you help me?”

Setting his spoon carefully back into his bowl, lest Harry drop any more bombshells, Louis glances over to where Zayn is curled up on the couch with Liam. His flatmate quirks an eyebrow in reply, giving the tiniest of nods to let Louis know they’re thinking the same thing.

“Why don’t you let Zayn and I go get everything?” Louis suggests, easing the soiled napkin from Harry’s grasp and rubbing his boyfriend’s hand until he relaxes his grip. “Niall can help us with your room, and you can make a list of everything that’s out in the common areas.” He doesn’t want Harry anywhere near that flat. Even the chance of Thad and Derek showing up has his skin crawling. They don’t deserve to look at Harry, to breathe the same air, and they’re damn sure not getting the chance to see what they’ve done to him.

Louis, on the other hand, will be more than happy to give them a piece of his mind if he happens to run into them. He promised Harry that he won’t report them to the school or the police, and that he won’t do anything physical (“Violence doesn’t solve violence,” as Harry would say), but that doesn’t mean he can’t let them know exactly what he thinks of them and their sorry group of friends.

“Erm, actually,” Harry stammers, turning his hand to fit his fingers between Louis’, “I think I need to go myself. Closure, and all that.” His lips tilt downward at Louis’ outraged squawk, but he says nothing further.

Louis tightens his grip on Harry’s hand, not bothering to hide the disdain twisting his features. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, babe,” he says softly, keeping his voice as steady as he can. “We don’t know what will happen if they get you alone again.” A shudder ripples through his body at the thought, strong enough that Harry sees. Louis doesn’t know if his heart can handle another fearful drive to the hospital, seeing the physical signature of hate scrawled all over a body that was meant to be treasured. Worst of all, he can’t imagine what would happen if Niall wasn’t there, if no one was. If he lost Harry…

He pushes the thought away, taking a ragged breath to ward off the wave of tears he feels coming on. Louis hasn’t told Harry this, hasn’t told anybody, but one of the first days Harry was safely back home, the older man had taken a walk down to the pub where the assault took place. He’d stood outside the entryway, trying to picture what it had been like for Harry. He imagined feeling alone and afraid, confused, not able to understand why this was happening to him. The weight of the situation collapsed in on him all at once and he’d broken down crying right there on the sidewalk, faded rust-coloured splotches still visible on the pavement. He’s sure they’re gone now, all evidence of trauma washed away—except for the way Harry doesn’t smile like he used to and the nightmares he refuses to talk about.

The boy in question has his chin jutted out in defiance, cool determination flashing in his eyes. “This is something I need to do, Lou,” he says firmly, not sounding annoyed, but not backing down either.

Louis twists his lips, trying to come up with a solution. It’s not his place to tell Harry what he can and cannot do, but the thought of those bastards getting their hands on him again has him seeing red. “What if we all go?” he suggests after some thought, hoping the compromise will satisfy Harry’s need for closure and his own resolution to keep his boy out of harm’s way. “You and me and Zayn, Liam as well if he wants.”

Peeking over the back of the sofa, Liam nods firmly from where he’s tucked under Zayn’s arm.

Louis acknowledges the gesture with a beaming smile. He turns back to Harry, whose face is carefully blank as he considers Louis’ offer. “You can get your things and we can stay out of the way, but we’ll be right there if you need us,” Louis coaxes, desperate to figure out a way to keep Harry both happy and safe at the same time.

Harry’s cheeks lift in the most genuine smile Louis’ seen for days. “Yeah, okay,” he chirps, looking pleased. “Can we go tomorrow?”

 _Shit._ That’s… sooner than Louis was expecting. He figured they would go next weekend, maybe. Just a little more time to build himself up, to allow the yellow-green bruises still ringing Harry’s eyes to fade once and for all. But Louis knows better than to suggest a delay, knows that Harry has his mind made up and that he can either accept it now or after a long, drawn-out session of pouting and whining.

He decides to save them both the trouble. “Yeah, babe. We can go tomorrow.”

♠♥♣♦

Tomorrow comes far too quickly for Louis’ liking.

Both pairs of boyfriends are piled into Liam’s car on their way to retrieve Harry’s belongings. It’s a nice day for February, the air crisp and cool but not too cold. Louis shivers anyway from his place in the backseat, head leaned against the glass of the window and Harry’s hand clasped in his on the empty seat between them. He’s not looking forward to this, not even a little. The last time he’d been in Harry’s apartment was the time he ran into Thad whilst being a one-man pride parade. Louis still can’t shake the feeling, all these weeks later, that he’s somehow responsible for the treatment Harry received from his flatmates.

The next tremble that racks his body has Harry clenching his hand, a sympathetic smile on his boyfriend’s face. The smile Louis returns is strained as he mentally chastises himself for making this about his own feelings. He should be the one comforting Harry, not the other way around. But Harry is sitting tall in his seat, head held high, like he’s ready to take on the world. He doesn’t seem to need reassuring in the slightest.

That has Louis worrying all over again. It’s like watching a dormant volcano, waiting for the inevitable eruption: you don’t know when it’s going to happen, only that it will, and that it will be devastating. Louis only hopes he’s there to sift through the ashes and help Harry piece himself together again in the aftermath.

“We’re here,” Liam murmurs, his soft voice loud in the oppressive silence that’s befallen his passengers.

The building in front of them, the same one that used to mean ‘home’ for Harry and ‘Harry’ for Louis, now looms tall and foreboding over the four friends. Here and there a window is bedecked with colourful curtains or a flag, an illusion of cheer at odds with the sombre reason for their visit. Harry’s old window isn’t visible from this side of the hall, but Louis can picture his dark blue curtains perfectly, can see Harry peeking through them to wave enthusiastically as Louis approached.

Now those days are gone, and the curtains are coming down, and Louis wonders if there’s a window they’ll fit in his flat.

“You okay?” Zayn murmurs, nudging Louis with his shoulder as the other two boys climb out of the car.

Louis tears his eyes from the rows of windows, catching his best friend’s worried gaze. He doesn’t bother with the fake smile, knows Zayn would see through it anyway. “I’ll be happy when this is over,” he mutters in reply. Then Harry is out of the car and slipping a hand into his, and there’s no other reason to wait.

The walk up to Harry’s flat takes no time at all, the seconds flying with each hammering thud of Louis’ heart. Louis grabs Harry’s elbow before he can unlock the door, one last chance to keep Harry out of harm’s way.

“You’re sure they aren’t here?” Louis asks in a hushed tone, blue eyes wide and searching.

Harry hesitates, hand withdrawing from the knob, but then the door is swinging open and a familiar head of blond hair is poking out of the entrance.

“Hey, lads,” Niall says, his smile dazzling if somewhat strained, “the coast is clear.” It’s been hard on him, Louis’ sure, to continue living with two of the people who attacked his friend. If Niall is still blaming himself, it’s even worse. Louis hopes that isn’t the case, that the Irish boy has realised the only people to blame are the ones who threw the punches.

Well, and Louis still blames himself, a little. He’s working on that part.

“Nialler,” Harry breathes, launching himself at his former flatmate. The impact has Harry wincing, bruised ribs better than they were but still tender, but Niall carefully pulls him in tight and buries a noisy kiss in Harry’s curls.

The other three watch the reunion, no one wanting to intrude, but unfortunately they have business to attend to. “Harry,” Louis says gently, settling a hand at the small of Harry’s back, “We need to get going, love. We’re on a bit of a deadline.”

Harry’s face is stone serious in an instant, eyes hard and jaw set. Niall’s expression is a mirror image, the reality of the situation sinking in once more. They’re here to get Harry’s things so he won’t have to see his attackers. That’s… That’s a lot. It’s affecting all of them, in their own way. Louis can tell as they start combing through the flat, piling bits and bobs in boxes and duffles. Zayn is fidgeting, jumpy, shoving a hand through his unstyled hair every few minutes. Liam is quiet, withdrawn, his entire face seeming to sag with the weight of his frown. Harry and Niall stick close together, whispering, Harry’s eyes darting to the door with every sound from the hallway. And Louis…

Louis is a nervous wreck. He’s bitten down every nail on his right hand and is steadily working on the left. Given the task of cleaning out the loo, he’s trying to concentrate on filling a shopping bag with the few toiletries Harry hasn’t managed to pack over to his flat yet, but Louis can’t stop thinking about the last time he was in this room, the cold look in Thad’s eyes. If only he’d known, then, what the man was capable of. A shudder works its way down Louis’ spine at the memory as he glances down at his shirt, glad that he isn’t wearing something too over the top today, just a forest green hoodie that Harry likes because it brings out the slight green tint in his eyes.

It’s easy to pick out Harry’s things among the collection of Axe products, and Louis has just dropped the final product into the bag when a sound from outside freezes him in place.

Male voices, loud and booming, from out in the hallway.

The clicking of the lock being opened.

A twist of the doorknob.

Louis is tearing out of the toilet without a second thought, the panic in his mind screaming only one thing: _I have to get to Harry._

The other four boys all look as stunned as Louis feels, spilling into the living area from various corners of the flat. Harry stumbles out of his bedroom, face as white as the pillow clutched to his chest, eyes fixed on the door as it swings inward.

There isn’t time to hide, to come up with a plan. They can do little more than stand and stare as the door opens wide enough to reveal the two men on the other side.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Thad snarls, dropping his book bag with a heavy thump. Derek flings the door closed, eyes narrowed as he takes inventory of the five lads staring back at him.

It’s Niall who speaks up, clearing his throat, though he can’t completely hide the slight tremor in his voice. “I invited them here, Thad. I’m allowed to have friends over. And Harry still technically lives here.”

Thad moves further into the flat, nudging his bag aside as his gaze settles on Harry. The brunet shifts closer to Louis, swallowing loudly. Louis can feel Harry shaking next to him, the brave front he’s affected the last couple weeks gone the second that door had opened.

The blood in Louis’ veins feels like molten lava. It’s all he can do to keep from flinging himself at the arsehole in front of him, to swing his fists until Thad’s skin bears the same marks he’d left on Harry. But he can’t, and he won’t. He’s no match for the likes of Thad—would probably end up hurting his hand more than anything. Besides, if he knows his boyfriend at all, Harry wouldn’t want to see Louis like that, reduced to anger and violence on his behalf.

It doesn’t mean the bastard doesn’t deserve it. And it certainly doesn’t keep Louis from picturing Thad and Derek meeting all manner of unfortunate fates.

“We told you that we didn’t want _him_ here,” Derek spits at Niall, jerking a thumb in Harry’s direction. Harry flinches away from the gesture, a whimper caught in his throat.

That only seems to spur Thad on, the blond laughing as he takes a step closer to the group. The five friends close ranks without a word, moving closer to Harry as if by instinct. The larger man isn’t intimidated in the slightest, still swaggering towards his former flatmate with a revolting smirk twisting his freckled face. “It’s been awhile, Harry,” he says with a sneer. “Glad to see there was enough of you left for your fairy friends to find.”

Tears track steadily down Harry’s cheeks, his eyes locked with his attacker’s like he can’t manage to tear them away. He doesn’t answer, though, just swallows hard and takes a step closer to Louis.

Louis wraps a protective arm around his boyfriend, positioning his body in front of the younger man’s. “Leave him the fuck alone,” he warns, the edge in his voice more fierce than he thought himself capable of.

It’s Derek’s turn to laugh. “Or what, faggot? You and your little friends are going to do something about it?” He slams his fist against the wall, the sound of the impact chasing Harry further into Louis’ side. “You were a big help to him last time, weren’t you? Where were you lot when we were beating him into the pavement?”

“Oi, stop it!” Niall yells, pushing between Louis and Zayn to get up in Derek’s face. Niall is shorter and less buff, but his face is red and he’s tensed like a snake ready to strike. “The only reason you bastards are still here is because Harry’s a far better person than any of us, but if you touch him again I swear to god you will regret it.”

“If he was going to report us, he would have done it by now,” Thad replies smugly. “He’s a smart boy, our Harry. Knows better than to make things harder for himself than he already has.”

Zayn has been quiet the entire exchange, eyes flitting from one man to the next. He doesn’t like conflict, Zayn. Louis doesn’t either, but Zayn seems to take it to heart. He withdraws into himself, each raised voice making him shrink further and further away. But now he’s stepping forward, placing a steady hand on Niall’s shoulder and gently pulling the angry man back. “Come on, lads,” he says, his voice level and low. “We were just here to get Harry’s things, and now we’ll be off.”

Thad’s icy blue eyes snap to Zayn, sweeping down his body and back up before settling on his face with a curl of disgust to his lip. “First the fags, and now a Paki?” The slurs roll off his tongue as easy as breathing. “Niall, mate, you need to keep better company.”

Zayn blinks at the derogatory name, reeling like he’s been slapped. Before he can think twice, Louis is surging forward, tugging his arm out of Harry’s grasp and ignoring his boyfriend’s quiet plea to stop.

“That’s enough.”

The voice from behind the group gives Louis pause. Liam is stepping through the line of his friends, slipping his hand into Zayn’s as he joins his boyfriend in front of the bullies. His face doesn’t look quite so soft and sweet anymore.

Liam draws himself up to his full height, the hand not in Zayn's balled into a fist at his side. Thad and Derek, seeming to notice Liam for the first time, take a moment to size him up. They share a look, and evidently decide Liam is someone they don't want to mess with, because Derek says, "Fine, whatever," with a disinterested shrug.

The group gathers their bounty and files past their aggressors, Louis leading the way with Harry still snug against him.

Thad huffs, crossing his arms petulantly over his chest as they pass. “Yeah, that’s right, and stay the fuck away. If I see any of you faggots again, you’re dead.” When no one answers, he takes a step backwards, putting himself between Harry and the door. “Did you hear me, you little shit? Dead. Might as well just kill yourselves and save us real men the trouble.”

“I said, that’s _enough!”_

There’s a flurry of motion followed by a sickening crunch, and then Thad is on the floor with his nose pouring blood.

Liam looms over him, shaking out his hand from where it connected with Thad’s face. “If you’re a real man, I’ll take being a fairy any day,” Liam says coolly, the venom in his voice enough to make Thad scoot away from him on the floor. Liam jerks his head to the side, seeking out Derek where he’s cowering wide-eyed against the wall. “You boys aren’t going to lay a finger on anyone again, or I’ll hear about it.” As Derek mumbles in compliance, Liam’s gaze falls back to the man on the floor. “And you will never, ever tell someone to kill themselves ever again. Understood?”

Thad’s only answer is a stilted nod, too busy spitting blood to speak. He glares up at Harry with streaming eyes, but makes no move to pick himself up off the floor.

Satisfied, Liam slips his hand back into Zayn’s. “All right, lads, let’s get out of here. These boys have a bit of cleaning to do.” Stepping over the groaning mass on the floor, Liam leads them out of that flat for the very last time. Well, except for Niall.

“Wait for me!” The blond calls, grabbing his keys and following his four friends out into the hallway. Once the door to the flat is shut behind him, he bestows Liam with a grin that could melt glaciers. “Liam, mate, that was _sick._ Where the fuck did ya learn to punch like that?”

Liam ducks his head, the intimidating countenance replaced with a shy smile that reaches his eyes. “Did a bit of boxing in secondary, but I’ve never thrown a punch without a glove in my life, if I’m honest.” He rubs his left hand over the scarlet knuckles of his right. “It actually really hurts!”

They all laugh, even Harry calming down enough to join in. Louis just kisses his temple and gives him a little squeeze.

“I’m sorry you still have to live here, Niall,” Harry says quietly, tucking a hand into Louis’ back pocket. “I feel bad that I got out and you didn’t.”

“You’re always welcome to crash on our couch,” Zayn pipes up, looking to Louis for confirmation. “It’ll be a bit crowded, but we’ll manage.”

Niall looks between the two gratefully. “Thanks, guys, but they really haven’t tried to fuck with me, so it’s no big deal. I actually haven’t been staying here that much, anyway.”

Four sets up eyebrows lift curiously. “Oh? Where have you been staying, then?” Louis asks, voicing the question on everyone’s minds.

Uncharacteristically coy, Niall fiddles with his keys to avoid meeting the questioning gazes of his friends. “Erm, I’ve actually been seeing this girl lately, so I’ve been staying at her place.”

“Aww!” Louis croons. “Little Nialler’s got himself a girlfriend!”

“Who is it?” Harry asks, suddenly in much higher spirits. “Anyone we know? How’d you meet?”

Niall laughs, holding his palms up as if he’s physically keeping their questions at bay. “Hey, hey, one at a time. We met because of you lot, actually,” he admits, meeting first Harry’s eyes and then Louis’. “It’s Skye.”

Harry coos and breaks away from Louis’ side to wrap Niall in a hug, while Louis is clapping his hands together in delight. “Yes, yes, good for Skye!” He offers a hand to Zayn for a high five, and his flatmate doesn’t disappoint. “You know I’m going to get _all_ the dirty details of your love life, right? We tell each other everything.”

“All right, fuck off,” Niall laughs, disentangling himself from Harry. “Speaking of, I’m headed there now, so I’ll walk you guys out.” Looping an arm through Harry’s, he sets off in the direction of the stairs. Still grinning madly, incredibly happy for Harry’s best mate and one of the coolest girls he’s ever met, Louis slings an arm around Zayn and Liam as the three of them follow the first years outside.

“I’m still pissed that those bastards are getting away with all of this,” Zayn grumbles once they reach the car park, the gravity of the situation still hanging over the group like a fog.

Niall’s resulting laugh is loud enough to make the other four boys jump.

“What’s so funny?” Liam asks, eyeing the wheezing blond curiously.

“You mean you don’t know?” Niall gasps, giggling like mad. “Shit, I thought she would have told you.” He directs that last bit at Louis, leering at the older man. “Since you tell each other _everything,_ and all.”

Louis frowns, no idea what the fuck Niall is on about. “She who?” Louis wonders, before he makes the connection. “Skye? Told me what, Niall?”

The grin on Niall’s face is nothing short of smug. “Her older brother, Lou. He’s the rugby coach. Christ, didn’t you ever wonder who she moved in with after her dad kicked her out?”

Louis blinks, letting this new information sink in and pondering its relevance. He’d heard Skye’s story loads of times, how she escaped her abusive father and came here for school. But she had never mentioned an older brother.

“Half-brother, really,” Niall amends, “From her mum’s first marriage. Anyway, I don’t think you need to worry about Thad. He won’t be leaving the bench for a very, very long time.”

It shouldn’t make Louis so happy, it really shouldn’t, but it does anyway.

♠♥♣♦

It only takes one trip for the four of them to lug all of Harry’s shit upstairs, and then Harry and Louis are left alone. Zayn and Liam go back to the latter’s place, claiming date night, and Niall is off with Skye. (“Seriously, did you see that coming?” Louis had exclaimed in the car on the way over. Harry had just shaken his head, mouth pressed into a tight line, but eyes still lit up with amusement).

“Guess I’m proper moved in now,” Harry announces, nudging a box of books with his foot.

Louis steps to him, wrapping his arms around Harry’s trim waist from behind and hooking his chin over the taller boy’s shoulder. “You’ve _been_ moved in, Haz. Now you just have more stuff with you.” He turns his head to press his lips against the pulse in Harry’s throat. “Besides, not long at all and it will be just you and me.”

Warm lips find their way to Louis’ forehead. “You really want to get a place together?” Harry murmurs, his breath rustling Louis’ hair when he speaks.

It’s something they’ve talked about, in the months they’ve been together, but the thought still has Louis’ heart pounding against his ribs. Harry must feel the same, judging by the way the skin of his neck is jumping with each surge of blood through his body. It had always been a joke, before, that they would kick Zayn to the kerb and be disgustingly domestic and Harry would never have to worry about flatmates again. But now, with Harry officially living with him, and Zayn spending more and more time with Liam, it seems a lot less like a joke and more like a promise.

“Yeah,” Louis replies, his voice breaking but his love for the man in his arms stronger than ever. “Yeah, babe, I do.”

And he can feel Harry’s smile, feel the warmth and the love radiating off his boy down to the very core.

Which is why he’s so startled when, an instant later, Harry is collapsing against him with a sob ripping its way from his throat.

Wide-eyed and startled, Louis lets Harry spin in his arms until the brunet is clutching at Louis’ neck, hiding his suddenly wet face in his boyfriend’s shoulder. Louis holds him tighter, rubbing his back and making soothing sounds into the mess of curls jammed against his cheek, his heart breaking with every wail that passes Harry’s lips.

Louis manoeuvres them to the sofa, sitting down when his calves hit the cushion and pulling the taller boy into his lap. Harry’s so long but he folds like a ragdoll, forming himself to the cradle of Louis’ arms as he cries and cries and cries. This is it, the breakdown, the one Harry’s bottled up for weeks. This is every bruise and nightmare and haunted look in his eyes. It’s the fear and the shame he’s been tucking away in the darkest corners of his being, spilling out hot and wet into the fabric of Louis’ hoodie.

They sit there like that until Harry’s shoulders aren’t shaking quite as badly and Louis’ legs are falling asleep under the pressure of the body in his lap, like the weight on Harry’s shoulders makes him far heavier than his frame should allow. Harry’s sobs turn to quiet snuffles, and his breathing evens out though his heart continues to pound, and Louis thinks Harry’s fallen asleep when hot, moist lips begin to mouth at the skin of Louis’ throat.

“Babe,” Louis mutters, the word coming out with more desire behind it than intended, “what are you doing?”

“Kissing my boyfriend,” Harry replies, working his way up Louis’ neck to suck lightly at the underside of his jaw.

A groan falls from Louis’ lips without his permission, and the sound startles him to his senses. Taking Harry by the shoulders, he reluctantly eases the boy away from the love bite blooming beneath his ear. “Baby, you’re upset. You’ve had such a hard day,” he whispers, brushing a damp curl out of Harry’s eyes. “Don’t you think we should talk about this?”

Harry’s eyes are downcast, hidden from Louis by the thick fan of his lashes. Teardrops still cling to them, like dewdrops caught in a spider web, beautiful and shining in spite of the darkness behind them. “I don’t want to talk. I want to kiss you.”

He leans back in, but Louis’ grip is firm—much as it pains him not to have those luscious lips on his body. Harry’s desperate whine in protest doesn’t help, either.

“Harry, love, I’m here for you. But you can’t bottle this up anymore, sweetheart.” Louis ducks forward to press a kiss to each of Harry’s eyelids, some of the dewdrops scattering under his lips and leaving them salty. “You have to get this out before it destroys you.”

Harry wrenches from Louis’ grasp, flinging himself off the couch and to his feet before Louis can so much as blink. His face is rapidly turning scarlet as the knuckles of his clenched fists go white, rounding on Louis with a fire behind his eyes that takes the older man by surprise.

“What do you want me to say, Louis?” Harry demands, and he’s yelling. He’s never yelled at Louis before, not like this. Not even when he left Louis standing alone on the footpath all those weeks ago had he sounded this angry.

And Louis is… relieved. Because at least Harry’s feeling something. Too long has he allowed himself to be numb, to push the emotions away because they were too hard to deal with. He’s feeling them now, in spades, and Louis is willing to take the heat if it means Harry can get some of it off his chest. He shrugs, eyes locked with Harry’s, hoping to encourage the boy to keep venting.

It works like a charm.

“Do you want me to feel sorry for myself? Moan about how I’m homeless and got the shit beaten out of me? How I can’t stand up for myself, let alone anyone I love? How I’m too scared to look my parents in the face and tell them their son is a big fucking queer?” Harry gets louder with each question as he paces in front of the couch like an agitated tiger, a rasp to his voice that Louis associates with sleep or sex but never anger, not until now.

Harry stops pacing and rounds on Louis, tears of a different sort following the tracks that hadn’t completely dried on his cheeks. “Say something! What do you want from me, Louis?”

Louis sits there calmly, hands folded in his lap, as the love of his life screams his heart out. Because this isn’t his Harry, and he knows that. This is a wounded animal, caged for far too long, finally able to taste freedom and not caring who it takes down as it flees. He just takes in Harry’s wild eyes and heaving chest and the veins standing out in his neck and arms, the waves of fury rolling off his body like steam off the pavement on a summer day. “What do you want, Harry?” Louis replies, his tongue feeling too thick, his mouth too dry, but he keeps his composure.

There’s a strangled sound as Harry’s hand flies to his hair, clenching tightly at the curls. “What do I want? What do _I_ want?” He repeats hysterically.

Pushing himself off the couch, Louis goes to the enraged man, putting himself right in the line of fire if Harry were the kind of person to throw a punch. But he isn’t and he doesn’t, just looks on in disbelief as Louis repeats, “What do you want?”

There’s a beat of silence, charged and white hot, but then Harry’s hand is falling from his hair and he’s taking a deep breath as he shouts, directly into Louis’ face, “You! I want you!” His breath still smells like the coffee he’d had with his breakfast. “I want my fucking boyfriend, is that too much to ask?”

And, well, that isn’t the answer Louis was expecting. “You—you what?” he asks, his collected facade shattering all around him as he searches Harry’s eyes.

The distance between them disappears as Harry reaches out and tugs Louis to him, fingers digging into the meat of his biceps hard enough to bruise. “I said, I want you. Now,” Harry growls, and fuck if it isn’t the hottest thing Louis has ever heard in his entire life. “Is that okay with you?”

Louis nods dumbly, the familiar rush of heat to his groin leaving him lightheaded and panting. Harry’s fingers are still digging in relentlessly, and Louis can’t help imagining his arms pinned over his head as Harry fucks him into the mattress. He’s wanted it for so, so long, knowing it will be good, but also keen to show Harry how amazing it feels the other way around. Louis has waited patiently for Harry to be ready, to want to try it, not wanting to rush him into anything... And now it seems like it might finally happen. The mental image alone is enough to have him whimpering, so when Harry returns his attention to the love bite he’d started, Louis is done for.

“Yes, yes,” Louis gasps, throwing his head back to grant Harry access, as if the other man needed it. Up to this point, Louis has been the one in control when they’ve had sex, but now Harry is helping himself to Louis’ body, losing himself in the flesh and the sweat and the pulse of the smaller man. And maybe it’s not how Louis pictured this conversation going, and maybe it isn’t the proper way for Harry to deal with his feelings, but it’s just been so damn long and Harry feels so fucking good and the next thing Louis knows, he’s flat on his back in bed, clothes still wet with tears in a pile on the floor.

Harry hovers over Louis, his hair falling around him like a veil as his hands bracket Louis’ head. His chest is heaving, sweat already pooling in the hollow of his throat, and Louis can’t help but let his gaze drift along the ghastly bruises daubed over Harry’s ribs like stage makeup. These won’t wipe away, though, green and yellow and red filling the peaks and valleys of Harry’s side, a reminder of exactly how much his boy has been through.

“Your ribs,” Louis whispers, reaching a hand up to hover over the contusion. It’s fading slower than the ones on his face, the inky blacks and purples deeper in the footprint-like shapes than they had been around his eyes. “Don’t they still hurt?”

Snatching Louis’ hand from the air, Harry brings it to his mouth and kisses each finger one by one. “Like hell,” he admits, the one arm holding his weight beginning to tremble under the strain, “but I need this, Lou. Need you.”

“Just be careful, okay?” Louis insists, watching the pad of his pointer finger disappear beyond Harry’s lips. The scorching slickness of a tongue wrapping around the digit has Louis trembling as well.

“I will be. With both of us,” Harry promises, kissing Louis’ finger once more as he pulls it from his mouth. He eases himself down over Louis, wincing as his battered chest comes in contact with the taut body beneath him, but then they’re pressed together and naked and sweating, and did Louis mention how long it’s been?

They slide against each other and moan as their bodies collide, mouths clashing together and tongues battling for control of kiss after kiss after kiss. Harry has a hand clenched in Louis’ hair and Louis is digging his nails into Harry’s shoulder, and he forgot how fucking good this was, how right it feels for there to be nothing between them but promises.

It’s all Louis can do to hold himself together when Harry’s hand dips down, over his fluttering belly and rocking hips. He makes a dissatisfied noise when Harry ignores his throbbing erection, but it’s soon forgotten when a curious finger is rubbing over the tight ring of muscle just beyond.

This is it; it’s finally going to happen. Louis is finally going to get to have Harry’s cock inside of him, filling him up. He likes topping, prefers it even, but he wants to give himself to Harry. He wants to be claimed and marked, to still feel the ache tomorrow and know it was Harry’s passion that caused it.

“This okay?” Harry asks, his finger circling and pressing but never hard enough to break through.

It is, more than okay, but Louis can’t form words because _fuck,_ Harry’s never touched him like this before, so all that comes out is “Nnngh,” but that’s enough to have Harry reaching for the condoms and lube, grimacing as he stretches his aching side to reach the drawer.

The lube is cold but Harry’s finger beneath it is warm, and the sensation has sparks exploding behind Louis’ tightly closed eyelids. He’s been fingered numerous times, by lovers and strangers and himself, but this one hesitant finger sliding into him makes the others irrelevant. Harry’s hands are clever and soon he gains courage, pushing and prodding and exploring Louis like he’s a goddamn goldmine and there’s treasure to be found.

And when Harry finds what he’s searching for, it’s all Louis can do to bite back a scream. He’s babbling as Harry strokes his prostate again and again, a steady stream of “there” and “love you” and “more.” Harry obliges gladly, adding first one finger and then two, until Louis is so desperate for Harry’s cock that he’s nearly sobbing for it. “Please, baby, please,” Louis cries urgently, pushing off the headboard to slam himself down on Harry’s fingers as hard as he can.

“Fuck, yeah, okay,” Harry groans in reply, letting his fingers slide out of Louis and reaching for the condom. The emptiness is devastating, but it’s temporary, only temporary, as Louis is always so full of Harry in one way or another that it’s a wonder he hasn’t burst.

Harry has the condom open and rolled over his cock in record time, and Louis thinks he could come just by watching his boyfriend slick himself up, the anticipation enough to have him wriggling against the sweat-damp sheets. “Harry,” he moans, still clutching at the headboard as if it’s the only thing keeping him from floating away.

“I’m right here, baby,” Harry purrs, and he’s nudging at Louis’ entrance and pushing inside, and Louis never thought sex could feel like coming home before. When Harry starts to thrust, careful and slow, Louis knows that they’re going to get through this and everything will be just fine and _holy shit_ is Harry good at this.

He can tell Harry is holding back, each thrust deliberate and steady, like Louis is the one with injured ribs instead of him. “C’mere,” Louis rumbles, tugging Harry’s face down to his for a slow, searing kiss. He moans each time Harry buries himself deep inside and Harry swallows each moan down like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. “You don’t have to hold back, baby,” Louis gasps once the kiss is broken.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Harry replies, stilling inside of Louis. His brows knit together in concern, eyes mapping every bit of Louis’ face for some sign of discomfort.

“You won’t, love, you won’t,” Louis assures him, taking Harry’s face in his hands and raining kisses over his flushed cheeks. He brings his mouth close to Harry’s ear, brushing the hair there aside so that he can whisper directly into it. “I’m all yours, Harry Styles, and I want you to take what you need.”

That’s what does it, what breaks the dam inside of Harry, and with a growl he’s pulling out and slamming back inside Louis so hard that it takes Louis’ breath away. Louis knows it hurts Harry, it has to, but Harry is relentless as he fucks into Louis, his hips knocking against Louis’ hard enough to bruise them both.

Louis watches the man he loves fall apart above him, coming more undone with each stroke. He’s crying, tears joining the sweat already drying on Louis’ torso, his face contorted in anguish and ecstasy as he buries himself again and again inside the tight heat of Louis’ arse.

Harry sobs as he comes, his arms collapsing beneath him as he spills into the condom, a few half-hearted thrusts all he has left to give. Louis just wraps an arm tight around him, cradling the crying man to his body, but Harry has other ideas. He grabs for Louis’ free hand and wraps them both around Louis’ cock, wet with the precome seeping from the tip. It only takes a couple delicious drags of their commingled palms over his shaft before Louis is shooting messily between them, hot spurts that coat their hands and manage to streak clear up Louis’ body to his collarbone.

They lay tangled together for a long time after Harry pulls out and flings away the condom. The brunet laps at the mess of come and sweat and tears covering the body beneath him, every few swipes of his tongue followed by kisses that leave entire sonnets in their wake.

“You okay?” Louis murmurs, sticky and sweaty and not giving a damn as he carefully combs out a tangle in Harry’s hair with his fingers.

“I will be,” Harry replies, pulling his face out of Louis’ neck long enough to offer a sleepy smile. “I love you so much.” He winces, teeth bearing down on his bottom lip as he moves the wrong way. “Might have overdone it, just a bit.”

Louis can’t help but laugh at the understatement. “You think?” he asks playfully, swooping to kiss away the pain on his lover’s face. “If we go back for your check-up and the doctor wants to know why your ribs aren’t healing fast enough, you’re going to have to explain this to him.”

“Worth it,” Harry grins back, eyes bright and sparkling in the dusky light of the sunset sneaking into the room through the window. _Harry’s curtains will fit my window,_ Louis thinks as he takes in what he can see of the sky. Then again, he doesn’t imagine there’s anything of Harry’s that wouldn’t fit into his life one way or another.

“We should hang up your curtains,” is what he says out loud, and it may seem like it comes out of nowhere but Harry doesn’t laugh, only rolls so that he can watch the streaks of red and pink spill across the sky along with Louis.

The glass of the window is dirty and spotted, but it’s still the loveliest sunset either of them has ever seen. As Harry drifts into sleep, still folded tightly around Louis, the smaller man knows that this is the turning point: for Harry, for their relationship, even for himself in ways he’ll probably never understand. He watched Harry fall to pieces, hit his lowest point, and never stopped loving him, even for an instant. And now, as his eyes drift closed and he follows Harry into an exhausted slumber, he knows that the healing has begun, that all the broken bits can be mended, and he’ll be here until everything fits back together even better than before.

♠♥♣♦

Sex may not have been the answer to their problems, but it certainly is the catalyst to their recovery. From that moment on it’s HarryandLouis again, open and honest and unfiltered. They spend late nights curled in bed, talking it through, and early mornings kissing away any traces of salt still clinging to their cheeks. It isn’t easy but it’s not supposed to be, and by the time March arrives it’s a whole new Harry that greets the world with his head held high.

It’s Friday, and not a single one has passed that Louis and Harry haven’t found themselves in the familiar booth of the little coffee shop. Louis has his usual cup of tea, Harry some sort of tea and lemonade drink, but they’re holding hands over the tabletop and Louis is drowning in one of Harry’s t-shirts.

They’ve gotten quite disgusting, to be honest.

“I want to tell my parents,” Harry declares, dragging his fingers through the condensation frosting the clear plastic of his cup.

Louis chokes, his tea scalding as it hits the back of his throat. "You really need to stop making important announcements when I've got something in my mouth," Louis grumbles once the last of the tea is freed from his lungs.

Not looking the least bit sorry, Harry traps one of Louis’ ankles between his feet beneath the table. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he replies cheekily, sending Louis into a fresh round of sputtering.

“Seriously, though,” Harry says, once Louis has regained control of his lungs and doesn’t have anything in his mouth to choke on. “I want to come out. Fully. I think it’s time.” His eyes are large and resolute as they stare into Louis’, pleading for support.

Swallowing hard, throat still aching from coughing, Louis takes Harry’s other hand as well. “Yeah, okay. Whenever you want,” he promises, so proud that his boy is comfortable enough to be himself, to come out to the world. It’s like the impending spring has freed him from his chrysalis and he’s ready to spread his wings and fly. And, okay, maybe Harry isn’t exactly like a butterfly, but he’s certainly gone through something life-changing and came out the other side more beautiful because of it.

“This weekend,” Harry says, the look on his face telling Louis he’s got everything planned out.

“This weekend,” Louis repeats.

They finish their drinks and head home, Harry packing while Louis books their train tickets, and then they’re calling a cab to take them to the station.

 _going to h’s for the weekend ! water the plants !!_ Louis texts to Zayn, even though his flatmate has all but moved into Liam’s. His mobile chimes a moment later.

_have fun! aha we dont have plants u tosser x_

_Because you forgot to water them ! :( :( :(_ Louis sends back, tucking his phone away with a grin on his face.

They catch the 5 o’clock train to Holmes Chapel and Gemma is waiting at the station, waving like mad when she catches sight of her younger brother. Harry rushes to her, wrapping her in a crushing hug, while Louis waits timidly to be introduced.

“And you must be Louis, in the flesh!” Gemma says, giving Louis a once-over after releasing her hold on Harry. She sounds the same as she did over Skype, her voice low and rich and pleasant.

“So good to meet you,” Louis replies, stepping forward to kiss her cheek. She titters at the formality and pulls him into a hug as well, and then Harry’s hugging them both until they’re giggling so hard that someone clears their throat from nearby.

They make it back to the Styles residence just in time for dinner. Anne is everything Louis had imagined and more, with warm hugs and a sharp tongue and the same laughter in her eyes that she passed on to both her children. Harry’s stepdad, Robin, is just as kind, greeting Louis with a handshake and Harry with a one-armed hug.

Dinner is wonderful, and Louis is so full of good food and laughter that it hurts to move. Harry fidgets beside him as his mum brings out the final course, a sticky toffee pudding that has Louis’ mouth watering just to look at the rich brown cake as it’s placed in front of him. He reaches out to Harry, tangling his fingers in his boyfriend’s larger ones under the table, and the grateful smile he receives in return tastes far better than any cake ever could.

Taking a deep breath and holding tightly to Louis’ hand, Harry clears his throat and begins to speak. “Mum, Robin, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Harry’s mum cries. Not that her son is gay, but that he was hurt because of it. There are hugs and kisses all around, first for Harry and then for Louis, both of them accepted without question. It’s nice, and exactly the kind of coming out Harry deserves. That everyone deserves.

Once the initial shock has worn off, both of Harry’s parents are outraged at how Harry was treated, and despite his pleas for them to not to make a big deal out of it, Robin insists that Harry has to tell someone what happened.

“They’re only going to hurt someone else, Harry. You could put a stop to it,” Robin encourages a sobbing Harry, terrified at the thought of having to report his attack. “I’ll go with you, if you’d like, or your mum can, but we have to make sure they don’t do this again. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

Harry reluctantly agrees, much to Louis’ surprise, and it’s decided that Robin will visit the university first thing Monday and go with Harry to talk to someone about what happened. Louis doesn’t bother hiding his pleasure that the bastards will finally be punished for what they did to his boy.

(Eventually, with Niall and Harry’s testimony, along with a statement from the doctor who treated Harry, Thad and Derek are suspended, and Niall decides to throw a party in the now near-vacant flat to celebrate. Three sheets to the wind, he giddily recounts the brash words he’d spat at Harry’s attackers before they ran off, taking their fear and hatred with them: "They were sayin' something about how this is what he deserves for takin' it up the arse," Niall slurs, an arm slung around Harry's waist. "I said to them, I said, 'Mate, yer about to take my entire foot up your arse if you touch my friend again.'" After that, the subject is largely laid to rest, much to everyone’s relief.)

The weekend flies and before Louis knows it, they’re on a train back to uni, a bag filled with tins of sweets added to their luggage. As he watches the scenery streak by outside the window, Louis can’t help but laugh.

Harry grumbles at the noise from where he dozes on Louis’ shoulder. “What’s so funny?” he asks, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“Boring weekend in March,” Louis muses.

“What?”

“You told me back at Christmas that you would come out ‘some boring weekend in March,’” Louis reminds him, picturing their Christmas Eve Skype call fondly. Harry had been grinning like mad, having just come clean to his sister, and then he had given Louis the sweetest birthday gift he’s ever received.

Harry’s tired mouth quirks up into a smile, one eye cracking open. “Guess I did,” he says, chuckling into Louis’ shoulder. “Though to be honest, after February I’m ready for a boring March.”

Turning his head to brush his lips across Harry’s forehead, Louis tells him, “To a boring March, then.”

“Cheers.”

♠♥♣♦

If March passed with as little fanfare as they had hoped, April is just the opposite. It’s the month the LGBTQ Centre designates as Pride Month, with events all four weeks long. It is busy and stressful and flies by in a rush of colour. They have another drag show, though Louis sits this one out, and a queer version of the Newlywed Game that Harry and Louis win by a landslide. Niall shows up to every event that Skye does, an arm bracketing her shoulders and a proud grin on his face when people tell them what a cute couple they make.

Liam is at nearly every event too, though not from printing the calendars five times.

“I don’t understand why we have so much of our printing budget left,” Nick muses one day as Liam delivers a fresh stack of flyers for the last event of the month, Pride Prom. “We were out of funds by this point the last two semesters. Oh, well,” he shrugs, ignoring the group of boys trying and failing to hide their manic smiles. “Guess we’re being more environmentally friendly or something.”

Pride Prom is beautiful, the largest turnout yet, and Louis holds Harry close as they sway to some sappy love song, while nearby Liam and Zayn and Skye and Niall are doing the same. Louis thinks he might be the happiest fucking guy on the entire planet. “I love you,” he whispers, just loud enough to be heard over the music.

Harry beams as he tightens his grip on Louis’ waist. “I love you too,” he replies, and from nearby Zayn calls, “I love you too!”

“And me!” Niall shouts, Skye laughing in his arms.

With a roll of his eyes, Louis reaches out and grabs for both couples, pulling them in until they’ve formed a circle with their arms twined around each other’s shoulders, singing loudly and swaying in time with the beat of the music. It’s some love song from the States sang by a man with gravel in his voice, but it’s perfect and wonderful and by the second chorus they’re all singing along.

_I'll be your crying shoulder,_

_I'll be love's suicide_

_I'll be better when I'm older,_

_I'll be the greatest fan of your life._

Louis can’t help staring at the boy across the circle as he sings along, mumbling over the words he doesn’t know but meaning them all the same. And Harry sings right back, laughing and tossing his head, and they stay long after the other couples have left and the DJ has started packing his equipment away, dancing to music only they can hear until Nick apologetically taps them on the shoulder and sends them on their way.

As they spill out into the night, the air warm and heavy with the promise of summer, Harry pulls Louis to a stop and kisses him hard. They’re right in the middle of campus and anyone can see, but Harry has long since stopped caring and Louis never did in the first place. They kiss so long and so hard that by the time Louis pulls away, he’s dizzy and his mouth tastes more like Harry’s than his own.

“Love you,” Harry whispers, pulling Louis close to him and kissing his temple.

“Love you too, babe,” Louis replies, slipping his hand into Harry’s. “Let’s go home.”

♠♥♣♦

_One Month Later_

The last panel of the school year doesn’t feel all that different from the first. Louis is late, and Zayn rolls his eyes when he arrives, but they settle onto their stools and face the students with wide smiles. Louis starts the panel like he has each and every one before, and then Skye takes over with her story. She makes sure to mention the wonderful man that’s come into her life, and Niall blushes from where he’s hovering at the back of the class. Zayn goes next, the major change in his story being that he plans to introduce his boyfriend to his parents after the term ends. Louis’ monologue is much the same as it was during that fateful panel back in January, though this time Harry isn’t in the front row to listen.

When he’s finished, Louis turns to the person on the stool next to him. Taking his cue to speak, the boy gives Louis a nervous nod before he turns to the crowd and gives a little wave.

“Hello,” he says, the tremor in his voice barely noticeable. “I’m Harry Styles, and this is the story of how I learned more about myself than I ever thought possible. Actually, it begins in the audience of an OutSpeak panel, just like this one.”

The words pouring from Harry’s mouth soon lose any hint of shakiness as he tells the students how he fell in love and fell apart and put himself back together in the span of one school year; how he came out to himself and his family; how he was literally beaten for loving someone but that the love was stronger than the hurt, in the end.

By the time he’s finished speaking, tears dot the eyes of half the audience, Louis included. He’s so proud of the boy seated next to him, spilling his heart out for the world to hear, that he almost forgets the reason they’re here in the first place.

“Right,” he says, beaming at Harry before turning to take in the sea of expectant faces in front of him. “Does anyone have any questions?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this story, please consider reblogging the [post](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com/post/120358023061/both-showing-hearts-by-kiwikero-icanhazzalou) for it on tumblr!
> 
> Now, the sappy stuff.
> 
> This has been such an incredible journey, and I am beyond grateful for everyone who has helped me along the way.
> 
> Sarah, for cheering me on from the beginning and working tirelessly to edit every word (even when I surprised her with a deadline change at the last minute). This fic would not exist without her.
> 
> Lexy and Addy, for encouraging me back when this was just an idea and telling me it sounded like something they would read, and for being awesome and supportive the entire way.
> 
> C, for letting me send her spoilers and ask about plot points. I know it's only because you want me to start the Titanic fic. ;)
> 
> The NZSquad, for cheering me on and being genuinely excited whenever I talk to them about my writing. They're an amazing group of girls.
> 
> And lastly, to everyone who has taken the time to check out my story, send me messages on tumblr, leave comments and kudos. Those things are the highlights of my day, and it's been such a pleasure talking to you all. 
> 
> There may be an epilogue somewhere down the road, if there's interest, but fir right now I hope you all liked the ending. Thank you so much for everything.


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, you asked for it, so here it is! It's not terribly long, but I think it says what needed to be said.
> 
> Thanks as always to the lovely Sarah for being the best beta I could ever dream of having, and to Vikki for helping me with britpicking. Thanks also to Beth for being the first person to read it and give me feedback! And, of course, thanks to everyone who liked BSH enough to ask for an epilogue. This is for you. <3
> 
> A quick note on pronouns: One of the characters in this part uses the gender neutral pronouns ze/hir. Ze, pronounced zee, replaces he or she, and hir, pronounced hear, replaces his or her.

A lot of things can change in two years.

Where once Louis woke up alone more often than not, now there’s always a warm body pressed against his, legs tangled with his and a mess of curls that Louis somehow ends up with in his mouth nearly every morning. On the rare occasions that he wakes up alone, like this morning, it’s because the shower is running in the ensuite, Harry’s rumbling baritone drifting through the flat like a slow-rolling fog.

Flopping onto his back, Louis gropes for his phone to check the time: 6:47 AM. Just over ten minutes before his alarm was due to go off. _Of fucking course._

He pulls the duvet up to his chin, sure he can squeeze a little more sleep in before he has to drag himself out of bed and face the day, but someone else has a different idea. Louis has no sooner closed his eyes again when there’s a heavy warmth on his chest, a purring mass of fur that flops over his face and neck with little regard to Louis’ desire to, you know, breathe.

“Missyyyy,” Louis groans, pulling the black and white cat further down his torso and swiping a hand over his lips to brush away the cat hair clinging to them. “I’m trying to sleep,” he says, wrenching an eye open to glare at the offending feline.

Missy seems unperturbed, her large yellow eyes regarding him lazily as she flicks her tail. He and Harry had adopted her just under a year ago, right after they moved out of student housing and into a larger flat. It’s further away from campus, but much nicer and larger, and the warm, earth-toned walls practically beg to be filled up with memories, new cracks and nail holes (and, yes, that one scorch mark in the kitchen that Louis managed to hide behind the microwave and will absolutely not be telling Harry about any time soon).

Louis gives up on trying to shoo the cat away about the same time the shower turns off, Harry’s singing stopping along with it. The ensuite door swings open, Harry stepping out with a towel slung low on his hips and water dripping from his curls and pooling in his collarbones. Mewling in excitement, Missy launches herself off of Louis to rub against Harry’s legs, making sure to use her claws to propel herself in her haste. She’s liked Harry best from day one. _Traitor._

“Oh, you’re awake,” Harry says in surprise, stooping to scratch Missy behind the ears and chuckling when a wayward drip sends her skittering from the room.

Louis sighs and stretches, bringing one fist down to swipe the sleep out of his eyes. “Yeah, I’m awake. Missy demanded attention.”

Without warning, Harry flings himself on the bed, covering Louis’ body with his own and smacking a wet, sloppy kiss to Louis’ forehead. “She learned from the best,” he grins, not seeming to care about his hair dripping all over his boyfriend.

Laughing, Louis wraps his arms around the man above him and pulls him in for an actual kiss, morning breath be damned. It’s slow and sweet and familiar, lips moving against each other like they have thousands of times before. Louis nips at Harry’s plush lower lip playfully, reaching down to grope the younger man’s bum through the fabric of the towel.

Harry wrinkles his nose as he pulls back from the kiss, one eyebrow raised in mock disapproval. “Hey, now, we don’t have time for that. You have to go to work.”

Louis groans, throwing an arm over his eyes and pouting. He knows the thin towel separating their bodies is doing fuck all to hide his morning wood, and he bucks his hips up suggestively, knowing Harry can feel exactly how hard he is through the terrycloth. “I’m the boss, I can be late if I want to.”

“Yes, and you need to set a good example,” Harry chides, bending down to punctuate his sentence with a soft bite to the skin just below Louis’ ear. “We have plenty of time for fun later.”

The feeling of teeth grazing his skin is too much for Louis in his current state, and with a grunt he flips them over so that he’s straddling Harry. Harry’s eyes are half-lidded, pupils eclipsing a nimbus of green, and Louis can tell that the responsibility lecture was just for show. “Or,” he says in a low murmur, trailing his long fingers down the smooth planes of Harry’s bare chest, “we can make time for fun now.”

Harry looks hesitant, considering, so Louis continues. “Ash has the first shift at the Centre today, ze will be fine opening by hirself. And you don’t have a lecture for another two hours,” he points out. “Besides, it’s not every day my boyfriend is leading his first OutSpeak panel since taking over the program.”

That does it, Harry’s pursed lips relaxing into an easy smile. “I guess it is a special occasion, isn’t it?” he practically purrs, his hands finding their way to the swell of Louis’ hips.

Louis grins triumphantly, leaning down to mouth along the still damp skin of Harry’s neck. “I was hoping you’d agree,” he whispers, allowing his breath to hit the wet, lip-shaped mark his kiss left behind over Harry’s pulse point.

Harry’s eyes flutter closed at the sensation, his cock fattening up beneath the towel. Louis wiggles on top of him, adding friction to Harry’s growing arousal, and a low, shaky moan tells him that he’s achieved his intended effect.

Sex has come a long way for the couple, from their fumbling first times to practised and unhurried, less passion and fervor, more sensual and languid. It’s not that their love life has gone stale, just grown more comfortable over time. The need to fit sex in before flatmates come home and between classes has passed, and now each knows his partner’s body well enough to chart detailed maps to each freckle and ticklish spot, each scar and surprising erogenous zone (“Your _ankles,_ Lou? Seriously?”).

There’s still passion, though, still firsts and new discoveries and times when one or both of them gets so overwhelmed with how much they love each other, how good this is, and it feels like that first time all over again. Especially now, when Louis has Harry spread beneath him, trembling with need as Louis fingers him open. It’s hard not to look into Harry’s hungry green eyes and remember the way they looked the very first time he pushed inside, slowly and carefully filling Harry’s body with his own.

The slide, the heat, the friction, is all just as good as that first time, though now there’s no trepidation to take the edge off of the desire. Louis groans as he slides his slicked up cock into Harry’s hole, feeling the way his lover’s body accepts him almost hungrily. Harry sighs happily once Louis is completely encased in his heat, like being filled with Louis’ dick is some kind of relief. Louis folds his body over the boy beneath him, pressing kiss after kiss to Harry’s chest and neck, the shower-dampened skin now even wetter with sweat and saliva. Each thrust of Louis’ hips has Harry moaning in pleasure, Louis hitting Harry’s prostate with practised ease, and the younger boy’s nails scratch unspoken promises into the expanse of Louis’ back.

It feels a lot like forever.

The thought ignites something in Louis, has him slamming into Harry relentlessly. There’s no rush, no one to walk in on them, but the mere thought that he was the first to have Harry this way, that he might be the last as well, has Louis desperately chasing his orgasm. Harry’s panting now, the little whimpers escaping his bitten lips telling Louis exactly how close he is, and Louis can’t resist swallowing those sounds to keep for himself.

He kisses Harry deep and hard, and all it takes is Harry’s teeth sinking into Louis’ lower lip before Louis is coming, buried to the hilt and spilling inside of Harry in long, throbbing spurts. It takes a minute for his head to clear, the black spots ringing his vision from the intensity of his climax to fade, but then Louis reaches between their sweaty bodies to wrap a hand around Harry’s leaking cock. All it takes is three firm strokes and a raspy whisper of, “come for me, love,” and Harry is painting both their bodies as he comes with a sob.

Sated and spent, the two men collapse into each other, a tangled mass of limbs exchanging lazy, sloppy kisses and gasping for breath. Harry’s beautiful like this, is always beautiful, but somehow seems to glow after sex, fucked out and pliant, like he’s the moon and Louis’ the sun and Harry just needs to borrow a little light but then he’s capable of igniting the sky.

Louis might get a little poetic after sex. No one has to know.

“Fuck,” Harry moans, still catching his breath. “Now I need another shower.” He pulls Louis snug against him, buries his face in the crook of Louis’ shoulder. “You’re a terrible influence.”

Laughing, Louis plants a kiss to Harry’s soggy curls before rolling off of him, the younger man whining as Louis slips out of him. Condoms have long since been forgotten, both men getting tested shortly after Harry officially moved in, and while it feels amazing, it’s definitely a messier affair than it used to be. “Come on, love, I’ll join you,” Louis offers, extending a hand to help Harry sit up, a mischievous smirk tilting his lips hinting at his motive for wanting to shower.

And if Louis spends a good portion of their shower on his knees, face buried between Harry’s arse cheeks as the brunet sobs against the tiled wall, well. Work can wait.

♠♥♣♦

When everything is said and done, Louis waltzes into the Resource Centre only half an hour late, hair still slightly damp.

Ash is at the front desk, chewing on hir nails as ze focuses on the computer monitor. It’s a slightly newer one, the desktop Louis used as a student here finally kicking the bucket last year. Ash’s hazel eyes flick up when Louis enters, watching as he hastily tucks his shirt in the rest of the way before sitting heavily into his desk chair.

“‘Bout time you showed up,” Ash sniffs, picking at a bit of nail polish still clinging to hir thumbnail.

Louis flashes the second year student an easy grin as he picks up the phone, hitting the speed dial number to check his voicemail. “Had something I needed to attend to,” Louis says with a sniff, deleting a reminder about the budget meeting taking place this afternoon.

“Or someone,” Ash mutters wryly, turning back to the computer screen so ze doesn’t see Louis petulantly sticking out his tongue.

It’s been a month now that Louis has officially been the coordinator of the LGBTQ Resource Centre, and quite frankly, he’s loved every minute of it. He couldn’t believe his luck when Nick had declared last year that he had accepted a position at another university, and that Louis was his recommendation for a replacement. Sure enough, Louis had graduated with his postgraduate degree on a Friday, and that next Monday he was offered the job.

Frankly, in his opinion, he’s smashing it.

He’s got an amazing staff, Harry included, and they’ve all taken to their various programs beautifully. Planning for Coming Out Week is already underway, and the first OutSpeak panel of the term is this very evening.

Voicemails seen to, Louis returns the phone to its receiver before pulling out his mobile. Harry, now in charge of OutSpeak, will be moderating the panel tonight for the first time, and all of their friends are coming into town for the occasion to celebrate.

_“You didn’t need to invite everybody, Lou,” Harry had chastised Louis as he dried his hair for the second time that morning. “I’ve done panels before.”_

_“Yes, but you’re the OutSpeak Coordinator now,” Louis argued around his toothbrush. “‘S a big deal.” He spat out the mouthful of toothpaste, rinsing his mouth and depositing his toothbrush back in its spot next to Harry’s. “Besides, we haven’t seen them in ages, and everyone was free.”_

_Harry looked dubious, but didn’t argue, merely pulled Louis in for a minty kiss. “If you say so. I’ll see you at dinner, love.” With a swat on the bum, Harry slipped out the door and off to his first lecture of the day._

_Grinning widely at the thought of finally having the whole gang back together again, on top of having something to celebrate, Louis had grabbed his satchel and followed the ghost of Harry’s cologne out the door._

Smiling at the memory, of how simple things are with Harry, how even a routine Friday morning can seem like paradise, he scrolls through his contacts to Zayn’s name and puts his mobile to his ear.

The call connects after two rings. “‘Ello?” Zayn’s voice comes through the line, and a pang of nostalgia hits Louis so hard it almost physically hurts. He misses his best friend so much, but after Liam had graduated last year, the pair had moved to London where Zayn found a job teaching English at a college and Liam started working for a marketing firm.

Taking a deep breath, refusing to let his emotions seep into his voice, Louis pastes on a smile and replies, “Hey, Zayner, it’s Louis.” Well, he almost succeeds.

“Lou!” comes the reply, and Louis genuinely smiles at the excitement in his former flatmate’s voice. “Liam and I are really looking forward to tonight, mate.”

“I was just calling to make sure you’re still coming. I have to confirm the reservation,” Louis explains, spinning idly in his desk chair. Who allowed him to have a grown-up job, again? “How are you two? Feels like we haven’t spoke in ages.”

Zayn laughs and Louis remembers the way it sounded bouncing off the walls of their shitty student flat. “You called me a week ago to set this whole thing up, and we text nearly every day, you wanker. We’re good. Li’s here, actually. Let me put it on speaker.”

There’s a shuffling noise from the other end of the call, followed by Liam’s far-away voice. “Hello, Louis! You excited for tonight?”

“I’m buzzing,” Louis replies, and he means it. “How long has it been since all of us got together?”

“Probably our going away party,” Zayn replies after thinking for a moment. Sure, Liam and Zayn visited every so often, often enough that they kept a set of toothbrushes in Harry and Louis’ spare loo. And Niall is in the same year as Harry, so they still see him quite often, especially since Skye had moved to Sussex for work and someone has to keep Niall from moping. They’re making the long distance thing work brilliantly, both of them too bright and vivacious to let the separation dull their relationship. Niall might get weepy once he’s had a few too many pints, but Louis almost never teases him about it.

Still, it’s hard to get all three couples in the same place at the same time, and will only get harder after this year when Niall joins Skye down South. Tonight has been a long time coming; who knows when the next occasion will be that their little group will come together again.

“Lou? Still there?” Liam asks, snapping Louis from his thoughts. He can practically hear the way the brunet’s eyebrows knit together in concern.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m at work,” Louis replies, as if that’s the reason his mind had wandered. “You need to come back, mate. The printing centre is rubbish without you there.”

Liam chuckles in response. “Maybe, but I’m sure you lot spend much less on printing.” He hears a squawk and a scuffle, most likely due to Zayn tackling Liam for the remark.

Sure enough, it’s Zayn who talks next, breathless and having taken the phone off speaker. “I apologise for my boyfriend, he thinks he’s clever,” Zayn says, giggling at the muffled sounds of Liam’s protests in the background. Louis is hopelessly endeared.

After chatting with the pair for a few more minutes, Louis hangs up, promising to see them at the restaurant. There’s a text message from Niall waiting for him when he ends the call, and Louis swipes his thumb across the screen to open in.

 _just lettin u know me n skye will b there tonite!! 7 rite?_ The text is followed by a number of food and heart emojis.

 _yeah, 7. lookin forward to it !!_ Louis taps out his reply before pocketing his mobile. Deciding he should probably get at least a little work done today, he swivels his chair toward his work computer and boots it up.

His desk is full but not too messy, Louis trying valiantly to be more organised at work than he is at home. There’s a mockup of the Coming Out Week calendar, covered in marks as Louis had corrected errors or changed details of the events. On the shelf over his monitor, there is a row of framed photos—one of him and Harry (which his staff teases him about at every available opportunity), and one of each of the Coming Out Day photos Louis has been in since his first year at uni. The third one is his favourite: he and Harry are in the front row, Harry boldly pressing his lips to Louis’ cheek, and Louis knows that their hands are clasped together just out of sight behind the rainbow flag they’re holding. They both look so young, despite it being only two years ago, both bright-eyed and unaware of what life and love were about to throw their way.

Louis is still smiling at the photo when someone taps him on the shoulder. Amira, now a confident third-year, is standing behind him, mouth quirked into a knowing smile. “Thinking about Harry?” she asks, dark brown eyes flicking to the picture Louis was staring at moments before.

“Always,” Louis replies fondly, not even bothering to deny it. He isn’t ashamed of how in love he is with the ridiculous, curly-haired boy, and anyone who knows him is well-aware of that. “Am I that obvious?”

Amira laughs, rolling her eyes and tossing her long braids over one shoulder. “Always,” she responds cheekily. “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I picked up the feedback forms for the panel this evening, so Harry won’t have to.” Her smile bares white, perfectly straight teeth, accented by the mulberry colour of her lippy. “I figured you had too much on your mind today to remember.”

“Thanks, I’ll let him know,” Louis says gratefully, cheeks flushing as he pulls out his mobile once more to text Harry. Amira has been a near-constant presence on the panels the past few years, and took over Zayn’s role as the Queer People of Colour programming coordinator. She’s been such an asset to his staff and the university as a whole, and Louis is incredibly sad to see her leaving at the end of next term.

_Amira picked up the forms for you . we owe her cookies or somethin !!_

A response comes a few minutes later, once Harry’s first lecture of the day has ended. _you mean I owe her cookies. Yours would be a punishment .xx_

_Cheeky bugger . Get to class !_

_Get back to work :) .x_

And Louis tries to concentrate on the many e-mails sitting unread in his inbox, he really does, but between Niall and Zayn texting him about tonight, Harry whining about his professor, and his own mind whirling with plans and details for tonight, Louis doesn’t manage to get a whole lot of work done.

Louis barely even remembers to call and confirm the dinner reservation before he has to dash off to his budget meeting. Even then, he accidentally leaves the folder he needs sitting on his desk. Amira is waiting for him at the door, folder in hand and warm understanding in her gaze. “Take a deep breath, Lou, it’ll be okay,” she promises, slipping the file into his hands and giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“I know, it will. You’re the best,” he says earnestly, before turning around and sprinting down the hallway to get to his meeting on time.

♠♥♣♦

Of course, of _course_ the meeting goes long, and Louis has to run across campus to make it to Harry’s panel. It brings back memories of dashing down the stairs to the first panel of this third year, the one for Professor Langley’s class. He had no idea what was in store for him.

How much faster would he have run if he’d known Harry was waiting to meet him?

By some miracle, Louis makes it to the lecture hall only five minutes late. The classroom door is closed, the panel already underway, and Louis curses silently to himself before pushing it open and slipping inside.

Amira spots him immediately, shaking her head and tapping at an invisible watch on her wrist. Louis scrunches his nose at her before letting the door close behind him as quietly as possible, shooting the professor an apologetic glance as the hinges groan. The professor, one who’s utilised the OutSpeak program many times, merely smiles at Louis and gestures to an open seat on the far side of the room.

Cheeks tinted pink with embarrassment, or nerves, or maybe some of each, Louis crosses the room in quick strides and settles into a vacant chair, in front of Harry and a few rows back.

The panel consists of Harry, Amira, Ash, and a second year biology student called Chase. It’s Ash who is speaking now, explaining the difference between sex and gender and what it means to be non-binary. “Sex is what’s in your pants,” ze explains, ignoring the scattered snickers from the students. “Gender is what kind of pants you’re wearing—the cut, the colour, the fabric. And sexuality is what you want to do with your pants off,” Ash finishes, the students laughing in earnest at the analogy. “The three are related, but don’t depend on each other. I can wear the same kind of metaphorical pants as someone else, but have a completely different sexuality. Sex does not determine gender or sexuality, and vice versa.”

Louis is really, really proud of Ash. He’s also going to have to steal that analogy.

While Ash finishes up, Louis can’t keep his eyes from drifting to Harry. He looks effortlessly stunning, perched on his stool and practically emanating confidence. He’s grown so much from the shy, insecure eighteen-year-old Louis first laid eyes on. Harry’s let his hair grow out, curls brushing the tops of his shoulders, a part marking the spot where Harry shoved the unruly mane to one side. His cheeks have lost some of their baby fat, revealing a finely sculpted jawline, dusted with just the barest hint of scruff (try as he might, Harry just hasn’t been able to grow a decent amount of facial hair. Louis only teases him about it a little). His broad torso is covered with a simple black button down, the silky fabric clinging to the planes of his chest. Impossibly long legs are wrapped in impossibly tight jeans, a pair of scuffed Chelsea boots completing the ensemble.

Basically, Harry looks incredible, and Louis’ mouth suddenly feels very, very dry.

He’s staring, he knows he is, but fuck if he can help it. This boy, this _man_ in front of him is his, and even though they once had to hide, now neither of them is afraid of who knows it.

It’s Harry’s turn to talk now, his low, rumbling voice filling the space and capturing the attention of even the least attentive audience members. He’s so captivating when he speaks, and it’s not just Louis who sees it; it’s as if the entire world knows that when Harry Styles has something to stay, it will be worth hearing.

“Hi, I’m Harry, and this is the story of how I found myself because of a panel just like this one,” Harry begins, smiling widely enough for the dimple in his cheek to make an appearance.

Louis’ been to a number of panels over the years, both to support Harry and to occasionally step in as a panelist when they needed an extra person. He’s heard Harry’s story time and again, seen the way he still gets choked up when he talks about waking up in the hospital and realising that someone had hated what he was, who he was, so strongly that they had to act on it physically. It’s heartbreaking, really, and Louis can’t help but let his eyes linger on Harry’s upper lip, where a thin, white scar is left as a reminder of how much pain he’s been through.

And while Harry talks, Louis thinks about their story in his own words, the parts of their history too personal to share in a crowded lecture hall. He thinks of their coffee dates and Harry surprising him with lunch when Louis is too busy to step away from the Centre. He thinks of damp skin and tangled sheets, love bites and bruises, searing hot sentences whispered in darkened rooms. He remembers the times they fought, one of them angry enough to sleep on the couch, eventually trudging back to the bedroom in defeat because they can’t stay mad at each other. It hasn’t been a perfect two years, far from from it: There have been plenty of tears and stress and shouting matches, but they pale in comparison to the soft words and tender touches. Louis wouldn’t have it any other way.

It feels like his life has come full circle. The first time he ever saw Harry, their positions were reversed, Harry biting his lip uncertainly as he raised a trembling hand in the air. Now it’s Louis’ turn to be a face in the crowd, his heart pounding against his ribs so hard he fears they might break. It feels as if someone has inflated a balloon in his chest, and he doesn’t know if it’s anxiety or love or pride, but he’s nearly bursting with it, whatever it is.

Harry’s story comes to a close, the final words settling over the room like the first snow of winter. He looks around at the crowd, at their curious and expectant faces, his eyes briefly meeting those of his lover’s before continuing to scan the room. “And now it’s time to open up the floor to questions,” he says, clearing his throat as if the emotion of his life story was enough to physically choke him up. “Does anyone have anything they’d like to ask?”

“I have a question,” Louis calls out, hand shooting into the air before he can stop himself. Harry’s eyes return to him, wide and confused, a bemused smile playing on lips almost as familiar to Louis as his own.

It’s now or never, and Louis has never felt so sure of anything in his entire life. His eyes crinkle into happy slits as he beams at Harry, his hand still high in the air, waving like a pennant. With a deep breath, he slips his other hand into his pocket, fingers closing around the smooth metal band he snuck out of its hiding spot before leaving the house this morning.

 _Yeah,_ Louis thinks, as he opens his mouth to change both of their lives forever, _I have a question._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end for real this time!! I hope you all enjoyed it. I really loved a chance to step back into this world, if only for a short while. 
> 
> Credit goes to the incredible Jessica Pettitt for the sex-gender-sexuality analogy. 
> 
> Let me know what you think, and come say hi on tumblr! A rebloggable post can be found [here](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com/post/127364527026/both-showing-hearts-by-kiwikeroicanhazzalou).


End file.
